Obscurum
by Lucadina
Summary: Annie is forcibly awakened from her crystal stasis by Eren's will. Rather than hurt or interrogate her, he keeps her under his care. For what purpose?
1. Reunion

It has been so despairingly long since Annie Leonhart stepped foot into reality. She's been encased in her crystal for the last five years - the endless nothingness of peace, at long last, with her wish of being reunited in with her father playing in a loop in her head. _Happy_ may be too generous a word to describe what she's finally achieved, but at the very least she's been living out her fantasy; a controlled version of the afterlife, sweet death.

Except, she isn't dead. She's alive, and she's apparently needed, because in this life it seems like every other person fucking needs something from her.

**Annie.**

Within the recesses of her self-manufactured illusion, she hears his voice calling out to her, over and over again, absolutely _maddening_.

**Annie, Annie. **

_What do you want?_ _What could be so important that you won't shut it?_

**Wake up, Annie. **

_Leave me alone!_

Annie awoke not out of righteousness, but because she wanted to_ shut him up_ once and for all.

When she comes to, she's on her knees, skin punctured by shards of her broken, crystalline prison. Her vision is blurry, made even more challenging as loose, blonde strands splay in front of her eyes. It takes a while for the fog to clear, thereafter she concludes that escape is impossible for she is surrounded. Not by allies, but by the very same people she could still kill. She recognises their uniforms. Well, she's wearing one herself.

Predator; she hasn't forgotten what she is and she hopes for their sakes that they haven't, either.

Standing at the front and centre of the Survey Corps is Eren Yeager: older, his face boasting newly angular features, and the indomitable fire she remembers fondly burning brightly in his eyes now blazing brilliantly enough to singe her. There is a striking maturity about him. Forget the evolution in his height or built, or the fact that his hair is long enough to tie (he has, actually, in alarmingly similar fashion to how she herself does).

It is his soulless stare that sends an electric thrill up and down Annie's spine.

What used to be innocent green is now a hundred shades of flickering emerald. Ominously deep, Annie feels a dangerously dark curiosity, as if she's looking into a bottomless well of murky water. Unnerving, intimidating, belittling; he taunts her to challenge him just so he could drown her and _enjoy_ it.

'Oi, Annie.' Eren greets her. 'We've been waiting.'

Annie says nothing.

His voice is deeper. How interesting.

'It's in your best interest to follow my command.' he continues. 'If you transform into a Titan, so will I - and we both know how that turned out last time.'

When ordered by Eren to stand up and follow his lead, Annie gives no resistance. The last thing she wants to do is put herself in a situation that will only secure her imprisonment, or worse, torture. Tough as she might be, she's still human. Pain remains a strong repellant for crime. So she swallows her pride when her hands are shoved behind her back and then shackled. The chains are weighty - nothing Annie can't handle. Actually, she's relieved to finally get some exercise.

As the militia approaches ground level, Annie is taken into the clinic within the Military Police headquarters. Hange (who Annie is surprised to learn is the new commander) instructs the doctors to take samples of her blood. As the procedure takes place, the subject is strapped down to a chair with unfamiliar faces in familiar uniforms watching her. She doesn't get recognise anyone, save for Hange.

Just how many people died?

Where are Mikasa and Armin?

Reiner and Bertholdt?

Ten vials of blood leave Annie's body in under two minutes.

'You'll feel lightheaded.' Hange says.

Annie shrugs the warning off. Does she have a choice?

_Suck it up, buttercup_.

Nevertheless, true enough, the blonde Eldian struggles to walk after the doctors encourage her to her feet. Her escorts - soldiers of the corps - are less than forgiving. They urge her forward, poking at her with the hilts of their blades to push her to walk faster. In the past, Annie wouldn't have thought twice about fighting back.

Currently, Annie is too fatigued to give a damn.

She is shown to her room, which she's told will be locked from the outside. Upon entering, the first thing she notices is that there were no windows. No reason to complain, though. She has everything she technically needs; her own bathroom with a bath and shower, a large bed, and a vanity. _Huh_. She's never had a _vanity_ before.

'Whatever.' Annie mutters to herself. She doesn't care for that right now. All she wants, more than anything, is to take a hot shower.

While the general population within the walled Paradis empire showers once in three days, Annie can't go a day without one... Or two: once in the morning, and once in the evening. When the warmth cascades down her bare body, she sighs in relief. At last, she can feel clean again. After all the dirt, grime, and darkness she's had to hold onto, living as an imposter... At the very least, her truth is out in the open now. Whatever punishment would be bestowed upon her, she could take. So long as before she runs out of time, she makes it back home to her father.

Annie gets out of the shower and wraps her body in the only clean article of makeshift clothing she can find: a towel. A fuzzy, white towel that barely goes past her hips. Her next step is to tie her hair up. Then, she's lost for a while. Eventually, she sits in front of the vanity, where her reflection startles her. She hasn't aged a single day. Dare she say she even appears more well rested.

What being knocked out for five years can do for you!

_What should I do now?_ she pondered. _If I try to escape, I'll probably be eaten. It doesn't seem like they want to interrogate me... Or kill me, or they would have done so already. So, why...?_

Just then, Eren barges into her room, interrupting her thoughts.

Annie is shaken, but she refuses to let her companion know that. And he really wouldn't have known, had it not been for the terror reflected in her eyes. In his arms, he carries some clothes - for Annie, no doubt.

'How are you doing?' he demands, not asks, as he throws the clothes onto her bed. Everything that tumbles out of his mouth now always comes across as an order. Annie doesn't recall him being this way when they were younger. It's as if he has a completely new personality. Perhaps Eren had turned out this way because he had acquired too much power at too young of an age without enough time to learn how to wield it.

'I'm tired.'

'You've been asleep for five years. You don't get to be tired.'

Annie doesn't reply. She just observes him, drinking in this new image of him. He looks stronger, more powerful. Like the part of the human bone that calcifies into a sharper form, sturdier form after being broken. He is a domineering sight to behold: tall, lean, and muscular in his black pants and coat. He could take her on - not that she would make it easy for him. But she is in no shape to fight him right now.

'What are you looking at?'

Still, Annie says nothing. Not even as he saunters over to her, zones in on her like she is his prey. Then, he's in front of her - unmoving, deathly still.

Is he going to strangle her here? Eat her? She has enough time to bite her hand and assume her Titan form. And if he is still the Eren she knew (unlikely), then he won't risk the lives of the people in the complex. He would at least try and take her outside. Maybe he's going to interrogate her? Would he really do so, without any militia to witness her spilling Marley's greatest secrets? Had they not already figured out-

Before her thoughts can race too far, Eren reaches out for her.

Annie growls.

'What are you doing, you suicidal bastard?'

Eren is undeterred by her harsh tone. He plants a palm firmly on her bare, right shoulder. The heat of his hand is intimidating. True to the warrior that she is, Annie doesn't break a sweat even though she knows more than anyone that she's at a disadvantage. Her guard increases when he leans in, his face edging close to the dip of her neck. As she stares at the mirror, what she sees is her own stone-face right next to Eren's. His gaze is hazy, like he's daydreaming. Obviously, he doesn't think she's much of a threat.

There's no real bite behind the frost of her eyes - only fear.

Annie presumes that Eren can probably sense that.

'Looks good on you.'

'... What?'

'The towel.' he gives her shoulder a friendly squeeze. 'I've never seen you in anything other than your training uniform... Or a hoodie.'

Annie feels the heat rush to her face. _What the fuck?_ What the fuck did he just say to her? She suddenly feels very self-conscious, breaking her stone composure to cross her arms protectively over her chest. It takes her a while, but when she finally regains some control over herself, she resorts to humour as a distraction from their current predicament.

Might as well crack a joke.

Maybe he'll smile. He probably won't.

'Do you have any laying around?'

'Any what?'

'Hoodies.'

'Of course not.'

'Shame... I'd prefer to wear one.'

'And hide your body?' Eren's voice drops an octave. He tilts his head to the side so that his lips are barely an inch from Annie's ear. She feels the energy of his skin, like some magnet, terrifying and attractive. He's intriguing and she hates him. When he speaks again, his words ring heavy in her ears. 'Now _that's_ the real shame.'

'_Stop_ it. What are you doing?' Annie recoils, as if burnt. She can't move much, considering that Eren's firm grip on her shoulder is enough to keep her in place. When had he gotten so strong? Or is she just weak from all those years of immobility? Either way, she's highly uncomfortable. Her training kicks in. Her left arm, which is closer to Eren anyway, comes up to try and grab him in order to throw him, but he catches her wrist in an iron grip. The hand on her shoulder moves to her back, thereafter he yanks her to her feet and against his chest.

Their faces are mere centimetres apart. His hot breath fans her lips, and the scent she inhales is that of Eren's skin: earthy, clean, like a fresh cup of coffee. Annie hates being this close to another person's visage - the claustrophobia makes her sick to her stomach - but not this time. Strangely, she doesn't feel nauseous.

She's _scared_.

At any moment, she could be killed. She may never make it back to her homeland, not even in a bodybag. If Eren's going to gut her, she prays that he does it soon and get it over with. This is practically a waiting game for her to become his food.

Annie shivers.

Eren raises a brow. He can see what she refuses to admit.

She struggles to keep it together.

Eren trails his lips along her jawline. She doesn't react, but fights an odd tightness in her chest. 'Frightened, are you?'

She attempts sarcasm. '_So_ frightened.'

'So very, _very_ frightened.'

Annie bites back a snarl. Eren had always been a persistent blockhead, but his current level of tenacity had reached impenetrable status. In the past, he was an easy target for teasing. The demeanour he boasts now makes her think about whether _he_ is the one doing most of the teasing these days.

'What do you want from me, Eren?'

'Shhh...' his voice is anything but soothing, but it soothes her nonetheless. 'I won't hurt you. For now, I need you.'

**I need you, Annie.**

She scoffs. '_For now_.'

'That's right.'

'Until the day you devour me.'

Eren smiles. 'Until the day I devour you.'


	2. Her Mask

Annie's going crazy.

She's been confined to her room for two consecutive days, only let out when she needs to be brought to the in-house clinic for collection of more of her blood samples. Even then, she's always shackled first with her hands behind her back like she's got a bad case of rabies. The only clothes she'd been give are identical pairs of white, long-sleeved shirts and pants. Against her too-pale skin and sunken, frosty leer, her attire paints her as the poster child for the local mental asylum.

Not that she's too concerned about it.

I feel like shit, so I might as well look the part.

During this time, the scouts serve as her escorts. They take every opportunity to try and hurt her with insults or painful pokes of their blades' hilts. Though they never injure her, it isn't exactly the physical aspect of Annie's current situation that is so upsetting. What is difficult about all of this is the fact that she's so hated.

There's no warmth around her. She should be used to it, considering that she's never been showered with affection growing up. Her father was never going to win Dad Of The Year, but they share a blood bond that gives her a false, conceptual sense of belonging. And, sure, maybe she had never been best buddies with Reiner or Bertholdt. On the contrary, she cursed the universe when she was designated to leave Marley with those two knuckleheads in tow. In the end, regardless of how she felt about them, Annie could attest to the fact that they_ tried_ to get along with her: including her in their conversations, teasing her, giving her attention when she was ill or tired.

Right now, she has absolutely no one.

These thoughts haunt her even as she lays on her bed, staring up at the wall in an attempt to mentally detach herself from reality. Not possible. Her wrists. Her chest hurts. It all fucking _hurts_.

Healing from the physical pain is no problem. The weight of the chains is a constant reminder of her status within the walled city's society. She is left alone to this self-deprecating nightmare, to relive her sins, within the claustrophobia of her room that is only lit by a lamp at her bedside.

Monster!

A knock at the door tears her away from her own mind.

Annie doesn't give her visitor permission to come in (it was probably just some scout dragging her back to the clinic anyway) but sits upright in anticipation of who was to enter. If they see her getting comfortable, she may be in for a world of hurt. She isn't naive to believe that she has any sort of agency to do as she pleases.

For the moment, she's generally regarded as the strange, dangerous, new insect kept in a glass jar on top of the mad scientist's work desk. So, to avoid any further denigration from whoever was going to waltz in, she thinks it wise to act like the good little bug she ought to be.

_They could crush you, they're just choosing not to._

A second later, Eren swings the door open. Annie's eyes widen slightly, not enough for her guest to notice. His own gaze sets on her. A full minute passes, seemingly without him blinking. Annie is too confused to begin communication. It turns out that she doesn't need to.

'Annie.'

'Eren.' a pause. 'What is it?'

For a while, he doesn't say anything. His eyes, the vibrant green of summer's final hours, burn into her skin. Annie's hands ball into fists instinctively. She never squirms, no matter how dire the situation becomes. But she'd be lying to herself if she keeps on pretending that she feels safe with Eren, especially with how he's studying her. She feels like she's staring death down, and she might as well have been. The Founding Titan, the superior progenitor; she's within range of a god, and she isn't about to push her luck.

_The world has gotten to you,_ she thinks of him,_ It's destroyed who you used to be._

'You're tense.' Eren observes out loud. He walks over to her and sits at the foot of her bed. He's close enough to touch, but Annie dare not move a muscle. He notices - the power he has over her has no effect on him. At this point, he would be a hundred times more moved by the notion of someone who wasn't affected by the threat of him.

No - what impresses him in this moment is the sight of Annie Leonhart herself in the flesh, alive in front of him. Physically unchanged from his younger days of training to be a scout, Annie brought back memories that Eren wished he had cherished fully in the moment. He still remembers the adrenaline, fear, and excitement with each sparring session. Annie always kicked his ass, but he owed his proficiency at hand-to-hand combat to her. She was his mentor. At some point, he desired her friendship, but she wouldn't cave in.

He thinks she's the moon: as beautiful and unreachable as the sky itself. And when she chad onfined herself to her crystal stasis, he thought she was forever sealed in lunar light and that he was condemned to only ever look at her, never to actually be with her. To this day, Eren can't understand why he's been drawn to her from the time they shared their first conversation. It wasn't as if he was desperate to fuck her, nor did he think that they would ever be the best of friends.

But there's something about Annie, something about what makes her feminine, that turns Eren into putty. An inherent grace - the flickering stars in her eyes that foil ultramarine in dawn's light. The way she made him feel, that ethereal phenomenon that ignited his faith in celestial powers: she makes him weak.

She's precious - he hates that.

_She doesn't even know what she does to me,_ he's realised.

He needs her to _stop_.

'Annie.'

'Are you going to kill me?'

'Is that what you want?' Eren frowned. 'For me to kill you?'

'No.'

'Then what, Annie?'

'I want to go home.'

'Why?'

'I want to be with my father.'

'Why?'

'Because he's my father. I belong with him.'

A condescending, upwards tug of the lips was playing on Eren's mouth. 'You believe that your rightful place is by the side of the very person who sent you on a suicide mission?'

'I believe that I have a place in this world.'

'Don't evade. Answer my question.'

'I don't have to.' her tone is venomous and her posture straightens viper-sharp, ready to strike. 'I'm a prisoner, not cattle. I won't do as you say just because you say so.'

Eren is about to mutter an apology, but he remembers his position. What leaves him instead is an accusation, 'You're defensive.' he leans forward, his palms on her mattress, murderous eyes burning into hers: hers, which give away the half-truths she can't hold down. He sees the cracks in her porcelain mask and he's determined to break through. 'This topic makes you uncomfortable.'

'You make me uncomfortable.'

'Oh?' Eren gets his knees up onto the bed so that he can edge close to Annie, close enough that her teeth grit and her eyes widen. His attention flies momentarily to her hands, which were trembling at her sides. Annie wants to hit him, but she knows it's a stupid idea. He thinks it's stupid too: he bites his lip to prevent himself from laughing out loud and when he looks at her again, Annie is hurt by the cruelty she sees.

'Am I a fucking joke to you?'

Eren raises his brows, but his lips are still resisting his own amusement. 'Pardon?'

'Am I - is this - a fucking a joke to you?'

His mouth finally settles into a thin line. There's a moment of silence before he implodes. He grabs Annie by an arm and she uses the other to push against his chest in resistance. He grips that one too, and ends up pinning her to the mattress, earning him a knee to the ribs. He hisses, but his grip on her only tightens with each kick - harder, harder, till Annie cries out and looks up at Eren in a panic.

Nostalgia.

She's been in this situation before.

'I ought to kill you.'

'Do it, you coward.' Annie trembles, breathing ragged. 'So long as you send my corpse back to Marley.'

'What do you want to go back to Marley for?! You think they won't purge you, force you to give your titan to someone else?!'

'Who cares?! I have only a few years left!'

The porcelain mask cracks. Her eyelids flutter, her bottom lip quivers. Her gut coils sickeningly; a hollowness forms and echoes, and suddenly Annie is weightless. Her arms give out. They go limb beneath her assailant, who doesn't fail to notice her onset of vulnerability. But he's not careless enough to let his guard down, nor is he so heartless as to be unaffected by her desperation.

'Eldia, Marley... I don't care about any of it! I just want to see my father again.'

Eren allows himself to fixate on Annie for what he knows is longer than what is respectful. She's coming apart before him and he wants her more for it. He wonders if she even realizes what she's saying. This cruel thing, this _mass-murderer,_ wishes to be loved, to bear meaning to someone. Since birth, she's been ordered to keep her heart under lock and key, not allowed to feel anything for anyone. Humanity. Annie was capable of it, but forbidden from its expression.

Is that why she's so full of rage inside?

He can't hate her. He understands her too much.

His grip loosens. Marley's warrior isn't foolish enough to try and take advantage of it. She knows that she's at his mercy. The best she can do is keep it together despite her confusion as his hands move to cup her face with what she imagines is the tenderness of a lover. He cradles her visage like he thinks she's made of fine china, and she'd be horrified to know that she's somewhat correct.

_You are the moon: as beautiful and impossible as the sky itself._

'What are you doing?'

'I was just thinking...' he whispers. 'How human you are. And that humanity is a beautiful thing. That _you_ are a beautiful thing.'

'I am not beautiful.'

'You _are_, to me.'

Empathy.

He's brimming with it. Their first kiss is magical when it really shouldn't be. Their bodies ache from their fight, but Eren is a tender man. He brushes his lips against her once, twice, before prying open her mouth with his own. He tastes her, really tastes her, and he confirms what he already knows: Annie is a sweet, _sweet girl_. She's inexperienced - her part in this is isolated to faint moaning, but that makes her all the more alluring to him. He likes this side of her, that which is devoid of rage, fear, or loneliness.

_What face are you making, Annie?_

Curiosity gets the better of him. Groaning, he sucks lightly on her bottom lip before pulling away. He stares down at her, and she's flushed, her blonde hair is a mess around her, blue eyes hazy with ecstasy, and her pale skin the envy of winter's snow. His hands are still on the sides of her face. She makes no effort to move, but continues to observe him, perhaps to desire him. He wants her; the frailty hidden beneath her fighter facade.

But to Annie, Eren is violence itself; bloodthirsty, vicious violence.

She hates that she likes that about him.


	3. Bodies

'No more blood tests.'

'That's fine.' Hange replies to Eren, who is seated across from her. 'I'm sure you'll change your mind once Annie's condition changes.'

The pair are seated in the laboratory, where Annie Leonhart's medical results have just been finalised in handwriting. Levi should probably be joining this discussion, but Eren figures that the presence of the captain would only worsen the likelihood of his plans' execution. Already, he's hesitant. Eren is fatigued metal; bent too far and dotted with too many dings. Right now, Levi arguing with him about the matter at hand would be as helpful as taking a jackhammer to the skull. Anyway, Eren would soon have to reveal the facts of this case to the superiors surrounding the queen. This secret will take its first breath, and once more, Eren will be crucified for the choices he makes.

Hopefully by then, it'll be too late to do anything about him.

Eren can somewhat trust Hange - the scientist is too interested in the outcome of this experiment to jeopardise its success. He did, however, make one major miscalculation that continues to give way to annoying dialogue of which he could never leave unscathed: Hange's patronizing lectures on his questionable morality.

'Eren... Is this really the only way to spare Historia?'

'Who knows - but it's one method of doing so.'

'By sacrificing Annie?'

'I'm _not_ sacrificing her.' he snarls. He's a monster when he's like this, with his bared teeth and wild eyes, ready to pounce because_ how fucking dare you_ insinuate that he hasn't thought about every possibility before condemning someone he cares about. 'Sacrifices are necessary in the pursuit of what's right, but _her_ sacrifice isn't. Absolutely no one benefits from Annie's death.'

'Hm... Debatable.' Hange stands and folds her arms up and behind her head. She knows that Eren is succumbing to his attachments, but there's no use challenging him upfront. She's dealt with heated young men before; nearly an impossible feat. There's a more effective technique to unpacking this illusion Eren has tricked himself into believing. 'Have you even bothered to ask Annie what she wants for herself?'

'She wants to return to Marley.' a pause. By the way Hange's eyebrows raise, he knows she disapproves of his unsaid argument. He continues, eager to defend himself. 'But if she does that, Marley will feed her to the next eligible warrior candidate. She's essentially got a death wish.'

'Right - but that's her choice. You're taking that away from her.'

'I'm allowing her to keep what's rightfully hers - her freedom to live.'

'It's _her_ life. Not yours to decide what to do with.'

Eren doesn't think it's wise to continue the conversation past this point. A part of him recognises that there's value in Hange's logic, but he simply cannot accept Annie's death. He's waited so long for her to wake up and she's finally within reach, in the flesh. If she wasn't going to fight for her life, she should have let him kill her five years ago instead of having him agonise over her absence all this time.

As if he wasn't the one who had hesitated after seeing her crying face.

'You're being so selfish.' Hange kneads the hard knot in his shoulder soothingly. Her touch makes Eren flinch, but it's not unpleasant. He supposes he's just not used to it. 'What was I expecting though? You are a hot-blooded _man_ after all, and a young one-'

'This has nothing to do with my personal desires.'

'I didn't say it did.'

'You were implying it.' he growls low. 'Suggesting that I'm irresponsible-'

'Simply stating the facts here-'

'-therefore arguing that this plan has no potential to actually succeed.' he finishes. 'Which we both know isn't true.'

'Do we, now?'

* * *

_Why did he kiss me?_

Annie can't stop thinking about what transpired the last night, when Eren's lips met her own. She hasn't seen him since. Evidently, he doesn't want to pay her a visit. She hopes, shamefully, that he'll change his mind and pop by.

Frankly, she thought that her life would end without any semblance of sensuality. She was neither charming nor seductive, so there was no reason for men to lust after her. Unless she was in one of those shady bars where middle-aged, heavily intoxicated perverts desperate to cop a feel of her ass. Hardly a turn on. Besides - those men are typically so out of it, they'd go after a chair if it had a skirt on it.

Having said that, it isn't as if Annie doesn't want to experience intimacy. Annie, despite popular belief among her peers, remains hopelessly human. The inconvenience of being taught by her father to never showcase her humanity led to great frustration in its expression. Her father brought her into this world as part of his servitude to Marley, so he taught her from a young age to discard any unnecessary wishes that benefit no one apart from herself. Inadvertently, he had also ingrained into her mind that she was utterly worthless if she could not carry out her purpose, her own wishes be damned.

He managed to apologise in the end, but it's too late. Annie can't shake the feeling that her life is hollow.

She doesn't want it to be.

She gets up from her bed and walks over to the door.

Turns the handle.

_Locked_. Of course.

'Hey.' Annie calls out to whoever stands on the other side of the wall. There should be guards waiting on her. The militia is undoubtedly stupid, but not stupid enough to leave her unattended. At least, she hopes so. '_Hey_.' she tries again. When she still receives no response, she knocks and raises her voice. 'I need to speak with Eren Yeager.'

Silence.

She pounds a fist on the sturdy wood.

No reaction.

Begrudgingly, she climbs back onto her bed, stares up at the ceiling. Eventually, her eyelids shut and she lulls to sleep. What else is she going to do? She doesn't even have books to read. She almost wishes someone had come to pick her up to go to the clinic.

Almost.

The thought makes her smirk a little. Oh, what has this all come to? Her life is full of unknowns. Reprieve is the certainty of an oblivion, a glimpse of which she grasps in her sleep. When she comes to an hour later, she feels that the mattress has strangely sunken in. Blinking to clear her vision, she finally sees that Eren is seated in front of her, at the foot of her bed, staring directly at her.

He's like a ghost, vanishing and then reappearing as he pleases; it hurts, why can't he stay?

She's not scared.

'Eren.'

He doesn't say anything back, but gives her a curt nod. She might be dreaming, but she notes that his hostile features are etched with tenderness. He's somehow soft, not quite kind. He's usually a strict figure in his black ensemble, but today, he dons a paper-thin olive shirt and a pair of brown slacks. His presence is not as imposing as the night before. It pacifies the perpetual anxiety she's felt since emerging from her crystal stasis, but she's not going to break her walls down. She can't see his teeth, but she knows he's got fangs.

A moment passes.

'Sit up.' he says at last.

She does just that. No reason not to.

Now that she's got a better view, closer to him whilst on her knees, she confirms that she wasn't mistaken earlier. There truly is an affectionate undertone burning beneath his skin; she hates it. It tricks her, hushes her into a false sense of safety. He slices through it with his fingers. They reach out to cup the back of her neck and he pulls her to him with his free hand firm on her waist.

She hates that she likes it.

'Did you come here to _just_ kiss me again?' she asks when they are close enough that her breath fans his chin.

Eren catches the hitch in her words. His heart beats thunderously in his ears and the nearly negligible distance between them turns unbearable. Must he answer? No, he can show her, _really show_ her what she does to him.

His mouth claims hers. There's no resistance. Marley's warrior snakes her arms around him, claws his back, and laps back at his tongue. He smiles into her lips and deepens; their teeth click but he doesn't let up and neither does she. It's painful, this passion between them; wrong and ugly, undoubtedly so, but pure all the same. There's no guilt, but there's anger.

Eventually, something painful grips Annie's chest, and she pulls away sharply.

He's confused, she can tell.

'Why?' she demands, eyes wide and accusing.

'The answer to that's obvious, isn't it?'

'_No_.' her nails dig into his biceps. 'Spell it out for me.'

Eren scoffs. _Bitch_. She _knows_ why.

She just wants to hear him say it.

'Fuck you, Annie.'

He pulls her to him with both hands on her hips. Annie pushes against his chest.

'Tell me to stop.'

She gnashes her teeth together. _Bastard_, giving her a challenge he knows she can't conquer.

'Tell me to stop, and I will.' he kisses her cheek, her jaw, her throat. She squirms. 'One word, Annie - just one word, and I'll stop.'

'You _idiot_-'

'_Tell me._'

A hand moves upwards, under her shirt, getting his first real feel of her. She's pale, so he presumes that she should feel like ice to touch, but she's the opposite - she's warm, so pleasantly warm, and soft. She cries out when he fondles a breast, and before he worries that he's hurt her, she presses her forehead against his shoulder and croaks, 'Wait.'

Eren stiffens. A weight drops in his stomach, heavier than the perceived tonnage of a titan; sin. He releases her. Has he gone too far? Did she not want this? Was he mistaken? These questions he torments himself with preoccupy him, so he can only watch, dumbfounded, as Annie takes her clothes off. Her shirt is the first to go. She's not wearing anything underneath - the unexpected nakedness compels him to avert his gaze. Seeing so much of Annie all at once, it feels too personal, and he deems himself undeserving. Annie senses his hesitance:_ coward; take responsibility for what you've done._

For once,_ just for once_-

_We're damned no matter what, so why not have a taste of heaven before we burn?_

Annie shakily takes her pants off.

'Hey...' she whispers. Her cheeks are an embarrassing shade of red, but Eren isn't looking. He's twitching uncomfortably in his trousers. 'Hey, come on...' When her words fail to grab his attention, she takes hold of one of his wrists in her hands. Heat burns his abdomen, coiling lower, till he swears he could finish just from the promise of sex with her. He gathers the courage to turn his attention to her, observing her wordlessly as brings his touch to the invitation between her legs; he's smouldering, she melts with a high pitched moan. 'Ah, _Eren_.'

_Fuck,_ he can tell...

He leans in for another kiss (why can't he stop, he should really_ fucking stop_), fingers working her up and down where she wants him badly. Annie trembles because she knows she's gone too far to turn back now - she simply doesn't have the will to deny herself.

_Canoodling_ _with the enemy_, what a crime - surely, Magath would have her head for this.

Well, fuck Marley. And Eldia, too, and the kings and queens and jokers such as herself. None of them matter, not in her heart's eye. Now, in this room, she chases her own blasphemy. She's going after what she wants, being who she ought to be, with someone forbidden.

Her anger births violence - her nails rake his back until the fabric of his shirt is caught, and she tugs so hard that it rips. Impulse earns her a lover's growl before her back is pushed onto the mattress, Eren remaining on his knees so he can undo his pants.

Annie considers him; he's grown, much stronger than she remembers - tall, muscular. He's a weapon that outmatches her in just about everything other than, possibly, technique, but she has no advantage in their current predicament.

His physique betrays no ounce of a loving constitution, so she gauges the situation on its potential for cruelty.

Eren proves her wrong.

'This might hurt.' he's remarkably gentle, from his voice to the caress of his fingertips on her cheek as he positions himself. And she returns in kind, with anticipation in her eyes that illuminate as alluring flecks of aquamarine. They appear to swim, wobble with the refractive light of a prism. He looks closer and realizes that she's fighting back tears. A dark fear grips him and suddenly, he wants nothing more than to taste the broken glass that make her who she is.

He wraps his arms around her, pulls her into an embrace. Annie's eyes widen - she's uncomfortable, mortifyingly so. She's only ever been held like this one other time in her life, and that was-

_Promise me you'll come back!_

She wants to get this over with quickly. _It's just to satisfy my curiosity_, she tells herself, and she knows it's a lie. When her father had hugged her, she may have only been a child but her brutal life forced her to cast aside her naivety. Annie knows, deep down, that her father manipulated her in that moment. He may not have realized it (he probably doesn't) but she questioned his sincerity in that moment. Nevertheless, she pushed her thoughts aside because even if it wasn't authentic, she needs to know she meant something to someone.

Eren's embrace isn't like her father's.

She feels something; not love, but _real_.

'Eren.'

'Yes?'

'I'm ready.'

He pushes into her, and sighs. More than pleasure or excitement, the most intense emotion he feels is relief. And he knows she feels it too, as her eyelids flutter shut and her lips part and her legs give out. Still, she's beautiful and Eren is a mess. He can't keep a steady rhythm because he feels too good and he can't believe this is happening. Dread becomes him; he won't last long.

Eren buries his face in the crook of her neck; awkwardly, her fingers fist his hair and she pulls him closer,_ closer_ so that his teeth are indenting into her skin and his moans reverberate in her eardrums like an angry confession. The ensuing ache is sharp, but Annie throws her head back and her toes curl and she's still yearning for the molten branding his fingers leave on her skin. She parts her legs, and he grinds into her, kissing her somewhere deep and good. She goes frigid with fraught, but he doesn't fuck her— just rocks, keeping her wanton and dazed.

He brushes his lips along her cheek; it reaches her heart.

Annie whispers, 'Harder.'

He stiffens, confused. He knows she likes what he's doing, so why - '_Harder_?'

'Just do it.'

'I don't want to hurt you.' he reasons, nuzzling her hair. 'Don't you like this?'

'Shut _up_.'

'Annie— '

'I hate this.' Annie's voice is breaking in high notes. Her partner stops, pulls away, and observes; she's coming apart at the seams, face flushed, and eyes full of loathing for the life she's lived. 'You're being so nice to me. I can't bear it, alright? So just fuck me, _hard_ \- I can't stand the way you are right now.'

Eren reaffirms his belief that Annie is a bad liar.

He rides her slow and sweet, as sweet as she is, and buries every breath and shiver she makes at the back of his mind to bite his lip to when he's alone. He forgets who he is, and what this is all for, in the face of passionate divination that clears the mist; this is humanity, the need for her, the high of her skin. Eren sees a future that will never be theirs flash before his eyes and he curses the stars for bringing him into the darkest of times but thanks them all the same for giving him someone so precious.

'_Eren_...!'

She's erotic when she comes, and the sight renders his own release inevitable. Her body quivers beneath him, and he bucks into her, helpless. Searing white blinds him, and when he comes to, the whole of him feels like lead. His attention turns to Annie - she's fine. Her chest is rising and falling with every deep breath she takes, but she's fine.

Eren shifts his weight so that he's on his side. A hand comes up to his lover face, tilting it so he can kiss her. A quick peck of the lips is all it is, but he deems it appropriate. Annie stays silent. Her eyes are screwed shut. Figures. She hates being read, and his non-compliance to her order of _harder_ has her unguarded.

When Annie finally speaks, she barely whispers. 'You must think I'm such a whore.'

'No.' he smiles and she feels it though she cannot see; full of warmth, like sunshine - genuine and rare. 'I think you're just... amazing.'

She laughs without humour.

'You were much more into it than I thought you'd be.' Eren continues.

Annie doesn't respond.

Minutes pass. Annie's breathing evens out, and her body goes limp.

Eren sits up, slowly, as to not wake her. He manages to get into his pants, but his shirt is a lost cause; freaking Annie, always has to inject destruction into everything. If anyone asks on his way back to his room, he'll have no excuse. To avoid suspicion, he makes a mental note to go shirtless for the next few days even though it's the dead of winter. Chalk it all up to a phase.

Before he leaves, he looks back over his shoulder. As he looks upon Annie's sleeping face, he no longer has any doubt left in his heart.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone reading and supporting this story! There is a paragraph in this chapter that was edited by Dorminchu, so I'm very thankful to her for that. I had difficulty writing this as there was a specific atmosphere I wanted to create, so I hope that it does feel different from the previous two instalments. However, Eren will be shifting back to more of his nasty side, although the back-and-forth between that and the kindness you see in this chapter will be explained as the story progresses.**


	4. No Words

In his spare time, Eren Yeager likes to drink.

He doesn't get drunk easily, _oh no_ \- he's a heavyweight champ, last man left standing while his buddies for the evening stumble to the floor in a pool of their own vomit before staggering out the door. Sad little people; they drink for the high of it, or because they simply cannot go on living without distorting their reality. Eren knows they only cling to him because they have nothing else to keep them going.

To those on Paradis, Eren is a god. They worship him, follow him, dare he say they _love_ him.

While it is him they put on a pedestal, it's not in his nature to respond kindly - or at all - to reverence. None of it counts for anything. All that matters, all he sees in front of him, is the blinding brightness of the sun he must seize in his hands, the justice denied to him, the only dream that fans the fires of undying bloodlust in what is otherwise becoming an anaemic pursuit: _freedom_. The rest is background noise that he easily tunes out. Except, he can't do that, not tonight — he's unfocused — Annie has that effect on him, the _witch_.

She's got invisible strings piercing through his bones, holding him up and bending him. He thinks it is entirely loathsome how he, by virtue of Annie's awakening, has lost control of a forbidden part of himself. He will never let her know, though he fears she's already caught on.

_I am not a slave, not even **her** slave —_

_But I am no longer free._

Eren raises his glass of cloudy absinthe to his lips. He should take only a sip, but he guzzles it all down with two hard, loud gulps. Absinthe burns his throat and sets fire to his veins.

These sensations distract him, momentarily, from the dull ache in his chest.

'Where's your shirt, fuckface?'

Eren snaps out of his thoughts and turns his attention to an unexpected visitor. It is none other than Captain Levi who is leaning against the doorway of the meeting room, arms crossed over his chest. Behind him is Commander Hange - despite her title, her presence falters beside the Captain. She shoots Eren an apologetic, sheepish glance as she fiddles her fingers together. _Sorry buddy,_ she winces, _he's pissed._

'I said, where's your _shirt_?' Levi tries again. He moves forward, marching over to the shifter without a flicker of fear in his charcoal glare as an arm shoots out to land a mighty smash square on Eren's nose.

The younger man topples, and the back of his hand instinctively swipes once against his bleeding nostrils. Smells like copper - tastes like it too. _Shit_ \- blood's running down over his upper lip, into his mouth. His teeth are probably stained. He'll heal without a problem, but he'll look like shit until he can wash his face. 'Captain, I don't need a shirt. It's hot.'

'It's _winter._'

'Well, as you can deduce...' Eren stands on wobbly legs, motions a hand to his empty glass on the round table. 'I've been drinking... been heating up.'

'Amongst other things.' it's a terrifying thing when Levi furrows his thin brows, 'You piece of shit.'

'It's none of your business.'

'You make it my business when you endanger my men.' Levi fists the fabric of his junior's open jacket, yanking Eren back down onto his seat because how dare he stand when he should be bowing his head in shame. 'I've allowed this farce to go on for too long now. How is an active Annie Leonhart supposed to help us? We don't need more information. Her presence is a menace. She could turn into a Titan anytime.'

'But she hasn't.' Hange quips, a good distance from the men. 'It's been_ days_. If she wanted to escape, she would have attacked us by now.'

'That doesn't mean the possibility for her to go on a rampage doesn't exist.' the Captain clicks his tongue. 'How many bodies d'you think'll rack up by then, Eren? Did you think of that while you slept with her?'

'Levi-'

'Shut it, four-eyes.' a hand ghosts over the hilt of a blade nestled on his hip, 'Eren's at an age where he can answer for himself. Isn't that right? So tell me, what about that girl is so special that you'd have us all marching right into hell's door?'

Still, Eren can't find the words to justify himself.

He's stupid - he already knows this.

But he's an absolute _moron_ when it comes to Annie, and he can't defend himself against his own poor choices.

Eventually, it is Hange who explains, 'If what Yelena says is true, and a Founding Titan who is not of royal blood must be maintained, then just like Queen Historia-'

'So pick one out of the dozen women who will be more than happy to give themselves up for that cause.' Levi growls, 'Why does it have to be Annie Leonhart, out of all people?'

'Because,' Eren begins, 'I want her to be free.'

He sounds illogical because he is.

* * *

Eren has the courtesy to wait for daybreak to pay Annie a visit.

He wants her to be well-rested when they meet again.

And, truthfully, he's not quite sure he has the confidence to face her after they've been intimate. Not that he hasn't had any experience, but none of his partners meant to him what Annie does although he can't say for certain why he goes weak at the knees for her.

_'You better hurry up and make use of her,' Levi had threatened as they parted ways, 'Or she's getting my blade.'_

Eren rubs his temples. What a mess this is turning into.

Soon, he's by the door to Annie's room, and ponders for moment what he's even here to do.

He doesn't wait on himself.

He keys the lock and turns the handle.

'Oi, Annie.'

She's seated at the centre of her bed, tying her still-damp hair up into her usual neat bun. Her eyes fly to him, cold and inquisitive, before she returns his greeting with a stern, 'Hey.'

She looks pissed. Should he be worried? No - she always looks ticked off, like the world is a heavy burden on her shoulders.

There is a rough awkwardness between them that neither had experienced with the other before now. The air is laden with terrifying familiarity, laced with resentment for what's become of them; how quickly they had gone from strangers to comrades to enemies to...? And how hastily the touch that defines them changes course, without evolution or respite, as though they are forced into the puppet masks they live behind, completely devoid of choice. Surprisingly, this has never bothered them this much - no time to be affected, after all. Onto the next bout of misery, always.

So perhaps the newfound bitterness they share is symptomatic of an inconvenient truth; maybe, last night had been their first time being honest in each other's company. Despite the tragedies threading their history, there remains a desire for tenderness that is mucked by distrustingly dirty waters of hollow faith that cannot truly expunge their humanity.

He's not heartless, he's matured.

Eren can't bring himself to think of Annie as_ just_ an enemy because he knows for certain that she's human.

Annie can't stop regarding Eren as a man even though he's the untouchable Founder.

But she's angry, so she's going to strike back.

'Where's your shirt, Eren?'

He cracks a lopsided grin. It's innocent enough to make Annie's heart skip a beat - has she caught a glimpse of the boyish child he used to be?

_No_ _— _his sinless smile rolls into the slightest of smirks; strikingly handsome _— irresistible_. It's not like the suicidal bastard, not at all.

'This,' he pats the bare muscles lining the toned terrain where his stomach should be. 'is what I'm passing off as my latest fashion statement. I have you to thank for that.'

'Ah...' Annie tilts her head and squints as though she can't quite see him clearly, but _oh_ she_ absolutely can_, 'And here I was, thinking you were trying to seduce me again.'

There's venom in her words that does not go unnoticed. Her eyes, which Eren has always admired for their pretty vibrancy, take on a tenebrious smoulder. He loathes the look she's giving him, as if he's got his hands around her neck like a noose, like he's crushing her beneath his weight, like he's _hurting_ her _—_

The implication hits.

It is Eren's turn to narrow his gaze, which darkens with vexation, 'What are you talking about? You gave yourself to me freely.'

'I am _not_ free.' she grimaces; her teeth are sharp, they'd hurt if she'd bite — she's going to, if he's not careful, 'You've taken care of that.'

Eren doesn't recall that Annie's ever spoken this much, more so with this much vitriol. It cuts him that he's incited this reaction from her - he's horrifyingly unprepared for her anger, as if he's never considered that the ire brimming beneath the surface of her stern features could catch fire. It dizzies him, and he makes his way to her vanity, where he helps himself to a seat, swivelling the chair around so that he faces her out of respect. Still, he's imbalanced. An arm props itself on top of the desk's smooth surface. Without support, Eren doesn't think he can keep himself up.

Acknowledging how she feels about him, even in silence, hollows him. The sting somewhat subsides, and his head cools. What he feels is now is a strange mix of frustration and fear.

Eren doesn't want to push her away, so he proceeds with caution when he's not really a cautious person. He surprises even himself with his composure when he speaks again, 'I'm just trying to keep you alive.'

'To fuck with me, it seems.'

It's difficult to remain collected when she's got her claws dug deep into his conscience, but he tries his best not to falter, 'I've done a lot of fucked up things, but I'd never force myself onto you.' a brief pause, and then, almost offensively, because he _never loses _and she's really working him up with the dangerous flash in her steady glare, 'That's not hot for me.'

Annie pouts, dripping with sarcasm, 'I see. I'm sorry I couldn't satisfy your..._ tastes_.'

'Annie, stop. You—' he licks his lips, 'It was all _you_. I don't get off to some power-play shit.'

'Hot for teacher, is that it?' she quirks a brow as suggestively as her cold features allow, 'Is this because I taught you how to fight? I _knew_ there was a reason you kept coming back, asking for more.'

'This isn't about that,' his voice drops an octave - his hands have started clenching and unclenching, 'and you know it.'

'You're right, Eren. This is about you being a manipulative bastard.'

Green eyes widen, 'What did you say?'

'I called you a_ manipulative bastard_, seeing as you've woken me up just to keep me prisoner.'

'Oh, would you rather I left you to _rot_ in your crystal?'

'_Yes_. Better than being your _whore_.'

'_Shut up_, Annie!' Eren slams a fist down on the vanity desk, which jolts from the impact.

_Damn it_, he wants to stand up and leave but that would give her too much satisfaction, seeing him retreat with his tail between his legs like a kicked puppy. She'd probably laugh about it too, even though _he knows she doesn't laugh_ but she'd do it anyway just to rub salt in his wounds like the psycho she is.

'I've never once disrespected you like that, not even in my_ own mind_!' he's seething; eyes burn wild verdant and teeth gnashing together, 'I'm going out of my way for you, to_ free_ you-'

'I didn't _ask_ you to do this!' she grabs a pillow and throws it at his head, as if it were supposed to crush him. It bounces off his arm harmlessly and the fact that he's still in front of her, staring right at her, tints her cheeks red with rage, 'You brought me back, saying you'd _spare_ me - as if you've got anything else on your agenda other than finding just the right way for me to bend to some master plan I don't know about! What?' she growls, 'You thought I'd thank you for bringing me back? For _not _killing me the second I opened my eyes? Yeah, fucking_ thank you_, you asshole! You don't want to save me, you want to _use_ me, and I can't wait to see what suicide mission you're about to send me on!'

Eren averts his gaze. He can't look at her, not when she's like this. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that creeps up to the back of his eyeballs. He wants to cry, and it's pathetic. The intimacy they shared last night may as well be a figment of his imagination. Only a chasm of Annie's own manufacture remains between them. In hindsight, he realizes that he's gotten too close. Of course she'd bite him. There never was another option for her other than to push him away.

Leaving his fingerprints on her skin, using his tongue to peel back the spiked shell she dons to cover her tender bruises so that he can kiss along her scars - it's all too much for Annie to handle, to admit that she_ likes_.

_You are beautifully human, even if you won't admit it._

'Enough, Annie.'

He's had it.

He stands and moves towards her. Annie frowns, tensing up - she's ready to fight if he is, but he doesn't take the bait. Without so much as looking at her, he fishes a brass key out from his pocket before handing it to his supposed hostage. She acknowledges it with a glance, wordless. An uncomfortable moment passes. She looks up at him, and his eyes fixate on her once more; she sees an unspoken dream behind the smouldering green of his irises, and understands that it is the same fantasy that makes waking up from her slumber so bittersweet.

'Take it.'

She does, albeit hesitantly. 'What is this for?'

'This room.' he sighs, relieved when Annie's eyes widen in genuine surprise. 'You'll be able to come and go as you like. You can even lock yourself in. No one has a spare key, so your privacy is guaranteed.'

_Why?_ she wants to ask, but doesn't.

He's tempted to kiss her, but doesn't.

'I'll inform the others that you'll be roaming the grounds freely.' he turns on his heel, stops momentarily by the doorway to look back at her over his shoulder. She catches his gaze, and it feels like he's melting in her presence. She's so _beautiful_, still so beautiful after all this time.

'What happens then?' Annie holds the key to her chest, 'Are you going to kill me if I don't behave as you please?'

Shouldn't answer that, because he doesn't know.

He shuts the door behind him. He's shaking, _why is he shaking_ \- she's breathing, alive - not dead, _why are you shaking?_

He's not himself.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone interested in this story! Tried to write this in mostly Eren's POV as I feel that there hasn't been much insight into him. This story takes place prior to Eren invading Marley, so I don't want Eren to come across as too cold yet. Having said that, he will evolve to be more ruthless as the story progresses - so I wanted to show a kinder side of him while I still have the opportunity to do so. **

**Thank you for reading and I hope to read your thoughts on this instalment!**


	5. Prison

It's the morning after Eren handed over the key, and Annie hasn't left her bedroom. She's sitting in front of her vanity, staring at her reflection, wondering who she's become. What is she, if not enemy? If not a prisoner? If not something that someone's _designated_ her to be? She's never been anything she's aspired to be (not that she has ambition to begin with), and she's mortified by the possibility that she may actually have to decide for herself this time around.

_How am I supposed to behave?_ For once, Annie doesn't know the answer to that. Ever since she can remember, she's been told how to act. Her father's philosophy of treating the entire world as one sentient enemy still resounds clearly in her mind. Then, Marley's military only parroted this perspective._ You are dirty, damned, and strong._ Being used as a weapon all her life has given her confidence in her strength, and not much else.

She's only as good as her best kick.

What is she, if not deadly?

_I don't know what he wants from me,_ Annie contemplates as she chews around her knuckles. Her hand is clenched into a fist, the key to her room that Eren gave her safe in her grasp. In one gesture, he's deconstructed the expectations that define her. Suddenly, she's in possession of her own choices, devoid of responsibility to an allegiance. She never thought she'd ever taste a lick of freedom, and now that it's sitting in her palm, she doesn't know what to do.

She's lost in a reality she does not comprehend. Freedom is as heavy as lead in her hands. There's no way she actually deserves it, not from these people, not in this place, not where she's spilled enough blood to paint her name in fifty-metre high letters on its grand walls.

Freedom? She thinks she should give it back, but manages to admit to herself that she doesn't want to.

Before she can drive herself mad, the door to her room swings open.

Annie's heart starts hammering against her chest when she thinks it'll be Eren walking into her space. Instinctively, she tucks a long bang behind an ear. She can't quite decide if she's excited or nervous to see him - or both. Funnily enough, it isn't Eren who enters. Annie's disappointed by that, although she's nostalgic upon seeing her latest visitor.

'Ah, finally!' Hitch beams, 'If it isn't _Sleeping Beauty_, minus the beauty.'

Blue eyes roll in their sockets. Some things/people never change.

'What are you doing here?'

'Nice to see you again, too,' Hitch sighs and tosses a worn sack that she's apparently carried into the room (Annie only notices this now) towards the shifter. Puzzled, Annie takes the burlap, gingerly peering into its contents. Her jaw drops. She's not sure how to feel.

'These are my clothes.'

'Yeah,' Hitch shrugs, 'They've been gathering dust in my room.'

Annie swallows a hard lump lodged in her throat. She steels herself, donning the calculated cool of her eyes to glare fiercely at Hitch, who remains remarkably unfazed. Then again, she's never been intimidated by Annie. As far as Hitch is concerned, Annie's always been immature in the most pitiful way: always hiding from or avoiding people altogether, like a frightened, little girl. There's nothing appealing at all about the small blonde, which is mildly depressing considering that she'd actually be pretty despite the nose, if not for the dark bags beneath her eyes.

What on earth does _that man_ see in Annie Leonhart?

'Why are you giving me these?'

'Uh... Because they're yours?'

'But _why_ are you _returning_ them to me?' Annie presses. She's clearly sensed something off about the situation.

This displeases Hitch, who exhales through her nose. _That man_ ordered her to keep his involvement in this out of the picture, but... Well, Annie knows Hitch better than to buy that she's doing something purely out of the goodness of her own immaculate heart, 'Actually, Eren Yeager instructed me to get you some civilian clothes.'

_I knew it_, Annie seethes_— _for fuck's sake, _why_ is she so upset? 'For what reason?'

'Annie, relax. You're prohibited from wearing military attire, blades and guns and all. Obviously, you're not meant to blend in with us.'

'Why? To make me easier to spot in a crowd, to make_ surveilling_ me that much more convenient?'

'Sure. No need to freak out, though. Don't you know?' she raises a brow suggestively, 'We're tied up too, seeing as we can't so much as laying a finger on your precious little head. Leave all the touching...' she taps a finger playfully on Annie's nose, 'Up to your boyfriend.'

Touching?

_ Boyfriend_?

'I don't have a boyfriend.'

'Fuck-friend, then. Whatever you want to call your fifteen-metre class boytoy.'

Annie flushes bright red. She wants to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor, never to show herself to the light of day ever again. She doesn't know whether she wants to run away or start digging a hole for herself to crawl into and _die_, and it is precisely this dilemma that manifests as a deep line between her converging brows.

Hitch wants to laugh. Messing with Annie's always been fun, but this is a whole new level of delicious entertainment, 'Oh yeah, hun,' Hitch continues, having taken her ex-roommate's silence as admission of guilt, '_Everyone_ knows. You're loud.'

'I am _not_.'

'You are, and so is he_—_ you stupid lovebirds,' Hitch clicks her tongue, 'Tsk... What's so hot about this,' she motions up and down Annie's form with dramatic hand-waves, 'that he'd endanger the whole city just to bed you?'

With a low growl, Annie stands up and turns her back to her companion, curling her fingers underneath her shirt so she can pull it off of herself. She's wordless as she fishes for her underwear (a bra, _finally_!) from within the sack of her old clothes she's been handed. As she slides the straps over her shoulders, she's humiliated by how shaky her hands are. It's an uncertain feeling, being told that she's desired for nothing other than for who she is.

Not because she is a great weapon, or devil spawn to be crushed under the weight of ancestral karma - but because she is Annie, neither soldier nor warrior, and in fact a human being with a supernatural affliction carrying the ghosts of those whose lives she's taken.

He actually wants someone like that?

He actually wants her?

_Eren _wants her?

She has _nothing_ to offer.

'So... Are there cute guys over at Marley?'

Annie's gut somersaults. _You know?_ she almost asks, but like a cornered rat, she dare not move an inch.

As if sensing her apprehension, Hitch clears her throat, 'Mmhmm... It's all out in the open now.'

Still, Annie maintains her silence.

'You're not going to be punished, Annie.'

It's no use; Annie won't speak. Hitch realises her error too late. Of course Annie brings up her walls instead of breaking them down. How dare Hitch try to have an open, honest conversation with a child; a child who tucks her tail between her legs and retreats into the prison of her own mind when reality is too much to handle.

Annie continues dressing herself in a white hoodie and blue slacks. 'Shit,' she curses when she's done because apparently, her body has managed to develop even from within her crystal stasis. Her clothes are uncomfortable. She's outgrown them. The fabric stretches tightly, particularly along her hips.

'You look fat in those.'

'Leave me alone,' Annie grumbles, pulling her pants down awkwardly. The waistband squeezes her hips when it moves an inch downwards, pinching skin. It'll be a cold day in hell before she steps out like this. 'This fucking sucks.'

Hitch snorts. Annie really is just like a kid sometimes.

'Ha... I've got a proposal...'

* * *

**...**

* * *

Annie has to admit that while she essentially has no choice but to temporarily prance around in one of Hitch's gaudy dresses, she's at least thankful that a) it's a neutral taupe colour, b) Hitch swears to buy some hoodies as soon as possible, and c) she can roam around the city freely, without a pending mission at the back of her mind. The townspeople don't seem to know who is, fortunately. However, she believes that even the trainees from back in the day would have trouble recognising her with her hair down and her shoulders bare.

It's a wonderful feeling to be in someone else's skin.

She learns quickly that Historia Reiss (her classmate who she uncovered early on is a bastard child in the royal bloodline) has ascended to the throne. The previous monarchy has disbanded and Eldian history has been relayed to the public in full. Naturally, this includes making the existence of Marley and its intentions to eliminate Paradis known. This should horrify Annie, but all she feels is relief. Relief that she doesn't have to be a warrior, nor does have to hide. No_— _what horrifies Annie, what really, truly rattles her bones_—_

Eren and Zeke Yeager are half-brothers.

That _sucks_.

Eren, who she remembers hates Titans more than anything, not only discovers that they are all human, but that his very lineage plays a pivotal role in Eldia's future. _How must he feel_? Annie wonders, because he's never been very stable, and this must all be a terrible time for him, what with shifted alliances. The Subjects of Ymir, the people who Eren vowed mass genocide against in his early years, are now the very populace he plans to protect.

Annie feels sorry for him.

Then some more minor, less controversial (to Annie) facts follow: Zeke is a descent of the royal bloodline and serves as head of the anti-Marleyan volunteers with his greatest follower Yelena commanding the troops, there's construction by the ocean to create a port for foreign ships to dock, there are talks of Historia next in line to inherit the Beast Titan thereafter to bear as many children as possible...

Just a bunch of nonsense.

A week passes and she hasn't accomplished much. Hitch made good on her promise regarding the hoodies, so Annie no longer has any complaints. She's not involved with the war - not that she minds. She's thankful, actually, and her thoughts drift to Eren intermittently. Up until this moment, no attempt has been made at her life, or to coerce her into acting on behalf of Eldia. She's not even been ordered to hand over her Titan, despite having only two years left to live.

She still wants to see her father, but she wants to hang onto her freedom for just a little longer.

* * *

**...**

* * *

'Is that a good book?'

Annie jolts in her seat. She's enjoying a novel she's already read twice before at the library built within the Military Police's headquarters - well, _was_ enjoying it, seeing as she's just been interrupted.

'Answer me, Annie Leonhart,' Captain Levi brushes a hand with deliberate precision over the hilt of his blade, 'Is that a good book or not?'

She's forgotten what she had answered back then.

But she remembers coming to the revelation that the walls of Paradis still cage her, even if it tastes like liberation.

Annie thinks the world is needlessly cruel, but relents; she can only go with the flow.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Tensions are rising in the capital.

The Azumabito have returned to the island empty-handed. Currently, no nation is willing to fight for Eldian rights. There are a few activist groups, but they are dismissed by the world at large as freaks not worth listening to. Annie had already known this, and she thinks it was incredibly dumb of the current administration to expect anything more. Moreover, it was a foolish move to use the Azumabito as spokespeople; they hardly have any clout as it's common knowledge that Hizuru struggles to gain economical footing.

Ah, well. It's not like anyone asks for _her_ opinion.

In the evening, Annie's on her way back to her room after a long day spent at the library. She's conscious of the soldiers' eyes on her as she passes the hallways. Usually, she's confident in their presence as she's aware that they aren't permitted to hurt her, but her unexpected confrontation with Levi has irked her. What if she runs into Mikasa? Or Armin? _Bloody Armin_, she clenches her teeth. If given the opportunity to have at his neck...

As she turns a corner, she collides with a man whose face she does not immediately see. He's tall and stronger than her, so the collision forces her backwards. She does not lose her balance, in part thanks to him grabbing her by the elbows to steady her. The touch is familiar; hands that are warm and big, that ignite a thrill crawling along her skin which reminds her of burning wood.

Her attention flies upward, 'Eren.'

'Hey.'

It's been so long - he doesn't look so good.

He's exhausted, she clearly deduces from the fine lines around his eyes and his sunken cheeks, which were once youthful and full. There's no ounce of innocence left in him, and if her interactions with him thus far are any indication, his naivety is no more. Even so, his eyes are a burning emerald, fierce and wild, boasting that fire that has always captivated her.

_Captivating_; like his deep-seated hate for injustice, like the fangs behind his gaze, like his gentle touch_—_

Annie recalls how tender of a lover he is.

At the recollection of their bodies pressed against one another, she whips her arms from him, as though he's burned her.

'Ah, sorry_—_' he trails off, mainly because the glare she flashes is a warning shot.

Eren wants to say something, _anything_ to pick at the ice she dons. A month has passed since their last conversation and in that time, he's been tempted to see her - he hasn't, because it's not what_ she_ wants and he wasn't lying when he said that he wants her to be free.

But her freedom over _his_? Well...

He doesn't have much time to mull over his next step - she breaks away from him with the simplest of rejections.

'Excuse me,' Annie pushes past him. It's uncharacteristic of her to be so _polite_; that in itself stings him, and she knows that.

She's starting to question her own motives. It's obvious that she's tormenting him by keeping her distance, the inconvenient truth being that she shares this pain with him. She's not a warrior, nor is she a soldier; she's just _Annie_, but who knows who Annie is? Annie Leonhart is nothing but a two-dimensional image; an illusion born from the confluence between immoral nationalism and misanthropy. Annie Leonhart is who she is because that is what has been decided for her. She doesn't have the privilege of agency, of sentimentality.

She does not have a spirit, and as such is not guided by anything of that obscure nature. There only exists pre-ordained missions the she must carry out, for herself and for her father, who does not love her.

Her heart is hollow that way. And yet, there's nothing she can do about a haunting delight that grips the entirety of her; a piercing, pleasing paranoia that has her breathing deep and ragged.

The journey to her bedroom is short, barely a minute. She shuts the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood, locking it shut and still, she cannot escape. She feels Eren's eyes on her, singeing her with flickering, verdant embers burning with hate. She's all alone in her own space and yet _he is here_, the ghost of his mouth sucking on areas of her body that she wasn't aware she could derive pleasure from. But his heat is seductive, and she slides a hand underneath her panties to stroke between her legs. She whimpers when she remembers him, all of him, on top of her, next to her, and imagines that it'd be immensely satisfying to have him _beneath_ _her_ so that _she_ can have a go at making him squirm. See how he likes it, being made to confront the disgusting notion that he wants someone he shouldn't.

_He's ruined me._

She stops herself, unfinished, jumps into the shower to scrub herself raw. She wants him _off_ of her. His scent, his warmth, his unexpectedly loving touch: she wants it all gone.

Her nails rake with particular force on her thighs. Her skin parts and crimson rises to the surface, spilling at the sides, onto the tiles, straight down the drain. It doesn't hurt. Annie delays the healing process. An odd calmness befalls her as she watches the steady ebb of red. Slow, sure, inevitable; much like the tragedies she's left in her path. The sight is gruesome, albeit peaceful. It is her, it is human weakness, it is the flow of fate. This all ends in death, and she does absolutely nothing about it because she's just a person; vile and selfish.

Then, there is Eren.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Fate is playing a cruel joke on Annie.

Only a few nights pass since she's last seen him, and she passes Eren Yeager again. She only catches a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye as she walks by an open office, where he's seated, still wearing his military attire, at a round table all alone save for a glass and bottle in front of him. He lifts the glass, which is partly filled with a milky liquid (Annie isn't an expert on alcoholic beverages), and sips idly.

_Ah. So he drinks now._

Her stomach coils sickeningly.

_He looks different._

Annie isn't even conscious of her own peeping until Eren's gaze catches hers. She frowns_—_ a defensive reaction that is ignored by her former classmate. Her features aren't scary to him, not anymore.

She's just a terrible liar, that's all.

'Hey,' Eren beckons her closer with a curl of his fingers, 'Care for a drink?'

She's not going to respond, and he knows that, for he's already stood up and walking over to her, glass in hand. Her scowl deepens, but he's undeterred. Besides, if she really wants to be far away from him, she could very well move her legs and that will be the end of it. Except she doesn't, because she doesn't _want_ to. Eren's caught onto this as well, which explains his confident posture as he towers over her, staring into aquamarine.

He raises the glass to her chest before making his intentions clear, 'Like hell I'd let you have any of this,' and soon he's gulping all of it in one go, then turns on his heel.

It's her cue to leave.

Then again, when has she ever been good at following social cues?

She marches past him, heading straight for the bottle atop the table. It's mostly full, so she guesses that he's only had one glass. That's good, considering she wants him sober for what's to come. Not that it would be a problem if he finished the whole thing anyway. Gossip's abound of his heavy drinking and impressive tolerance. No one's seen him drunk_— _Annie wants to intoxicate him with something mutually beneficial.

She should be nervous, but she doesn't so much as hesitate when she picks up the bottle.

_Absinthe. _

Is he insane?

'What are you doing?'

'Attempting to trade.'

Eren's eyes flash ominously, 'I don't negotiate,' coming from him, it sounds more like a threat than a matter of fact.

'Well, it's time to start.'

One hand still holding the absinthe close to her chest, she uses the other to fish for something in hers pants pocket. Found it. She grasps her bargaining chip in a tight fist.

'_Annie_.'

'My freedom, or yours?'

'What?'

'Are they one and the same? Can one not exist without the other, or is it that one can only exist in absence of the other?'

He can't think about her words too deeply. It's always been impossible to understand what's going on in her head. In the past, it made her alluring. At the moment, he's got too much on his plate with all the shit going on around him and he doesn't need another headache. Although, as much as he doesn't want to admit that she has such a strong hold on him, he's intrigued by what she'll do next.

She doesn't disappoint.

In her palm, Annie reveals the key to her bedroom.

'Which is it, Eren?'

* * *

**Thanks to everyone reading and supporting this story! This chapter, I wanted to build a psychological foundation for Annie and limit insight into Eren. As this story progresses, I find myself questioning the dynamic between the pairing more and more. It's deviated from the original concept, but I'll follow what feels natural to write because it's a more interesting experience for me to chase the organic.**

**Thank you for your attention, and for your comments. I can't respond privately to guest accounts, so I'll do so below.**

**paramyth, thank you for your kind and hilarious review! I've been caught up this past month, but I intend on finishing this story - thank you so much for looking forward to the updates.**

**Forevershine, many thanks for your kind words! I hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter but more importantly, I hope that you enjoyed it.**


	6. Violence

Eren Yeager is stupidly dense.

It's blatantly obvious at this point, at least to Annie. Three nights ago, she gave him the key to her bedroom. Her _bedroom_. And somehow, up to this moment, he has yet to pay her a proper visit. Probably because he hasn't taken the hint, hasn't picked up on any one of the billions of breadcrumbs she's left in front of him when _she gave him the key to her bedroom_.

What he _does_ do is greet her like she's an old friend every time he passes her and it sends her into a tailspin each time. She catches herself wondering what he's up to and how he's going to hurt her, when all he ends up accomplishing is luring her back into a soldier's mind.

She hates him. He's still a moron, even after all these years she's spent caged in a crystal.

And she's an idiot herself, clinging onto misplaced attachment from her days parading as a soldier.

She thinks he cares about her; her sentimentality shocks her.

She's considering taking up smoking, bought her first pack today and everything. Dad used to do it at night by the steps of their cottage, especially on days when her performance did not meet his expectations. It made him look cool, to be shrouded in the various greys of smoke and mist.

And so Annie finds herself pacing the halls, cigarette in one hand, lighter in the other. Shaky fingers light the end of the stick and the ensuing smoke is thick. She brings the cig up to her lips, pauses, and brings it back down. For some reason, she can't commit to the act. This moment is one of the few when she is allowed to make a decision for herself alone without consequence, but the agency petrifies her.

Suddenly the cig is snatched out of her grasp by a familiar hand. Annie looks up to see Eren in front of her, a deep frown etched onto his face as he examines the unused end of the stick. 'You smoke?,' he raises his brows at her, drops the cig onto the floor to crush it with the heel of his boot, 'You should stop. It'll rot your insides.'

His concern is endearing, which Annie does not respond well to. When confronted with warmth she does not believe she deserves, she bares fangs she does not actually possess and somehow, it hurts all the same, 'Ah... Probably should feed me to the next soldier before my insides turn sour.'

Eren averts his gaze.

'Ha,' she tucks her lighter into her pocket. No use for it now, anyway, 'Have I spoiled your appetite?'

Smouldering eyes turn to Annie, who remains unfazed beneath the bite of his glare. He's wild, pulling back only so he can pounce at the first opportunity, and she knows this about him, 'You better not be drinking too.'

'I don't imbibe.'

'I figured.'

Her brows crease together, arms folding over her chest as her back arches. She's a little taller now, but still tiny compared to him, 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Hm?'

'What do you mean, _you figured_?' Annie's cheeks tinge pink and her eyes are wide and fierce, vulnerable despite the guard she's holding up (he finds this amusing, but dare not so much as smirk as he knows it'll just piss her off), 'As if you know anything about me.'

'I know _some_ things about you. Like, let's say...' he takes a step closer, she does not move back, 'How you need to be in control all the time.'

She scoffs, 'I don't have any ounce of control, I've conceded all of it to Marley.'

'That's not true.'

'It is.'

'Then why haven't you tried to escape?'

'Th—' she falters, manages to regain her cool but it's too late - he's already seen it, '—There's no point, you'd just kill me.'

'But if you're loyal to Marley, wouldn't it make more sense for you to die as a warrior rather than live as you currently are?'

Deciding that she's not enjoying this impromptu interrogation, Annie shoves her way past her former pseudo-student to head for her room, wondering how on earth she's found herself stuck on the weaker end of their power struggle. It's always been a battle for dominance with him, but it's been a repetitive fight that she knew all the moves to in order to secure her position on top.

Except now he's dominating her, twisting her to make it hurt.

He lets her walk away, and that hurts too.

It just doesn't hurt enough for her to want to strike back at him.

The bottle of absinthe Eren traded in for her key still sits on top of her vanity, positioned in such a way so that its image reflects on the mirror. Annie sees double; of the absinthe and of herself. She doesn't understand what she's trying to do. Not that she would go as far as to say that she's as disoriented as she remembers Reiner to be, but she feels two versions of herself switching at intervals over possession of her gut. She considers herself broken, just never felt the jagged edges of her fragmented glamour poke painfully at her insides until now.

And she's felt _him_ ripping her apart when he kissed her with full passion, when he refused to go along with her violent facade and instead, opted to _make love_ to her blood-stained body. She is hollow, and yet Eren's made that emptiness hum with a desire akin to need. Dead as she feels, her heart beats like any other living thing, and the intensity of verdant eyes brings the realisation that regardless of her sins, she's still got a chance to indulge in what should be forbidden to someone like her.

That's what her father used to say; _your destiny transcends who you ought to be - you are warrior before anything else._

There are days where she thinks of her father, and there are days where she does not.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Midnight.

Most everyone has gone to sleep and the world is barren and she's shrouded in dark. Without an ounce of fear, she's able to roam the headquarters freely, her history as a spy birthing an appetite for secrets. Not that she's a gossip— she's just curious. As luck would have it, it seems she's caught a sliver of mystery this evening, a heavy one. As she peers into a crack of dim light leading into a meeting room, she spots Eren sitting all by himself, not even a bottle at his side. He's a handsome sight lit by the dying flames of the candelabra a table over, his white shirt almost translucent against the muscled strength of his body.

She can hear his breathing. It's ragged. His elbows are propped up on the round table, face buried in his hands, fingers trembling. He's showcasing all the signs of a wounded animal, and yet Annie knows better. Still, this is a chance for her to corner him. He's unarmed, unaccompanied, just as she is. And so she enters, her stride long and slow as if to intimate that she's proceeding with caution. It's an attempt soften the hardness of his eyes as his attention flies to her. In an instant, he's gone from fragile to passionate, powerful.

'Get out,' he mutters; the menace of his aura does not reach his voice. When she doesn't obey, he repeats, 'Get out, I said.'

'I heard you.'

'Then why are you still here?'

Her gaze follows his hands as they ball into each other, fingers intertwining with a crooked tentativeness like spider's legs, coiling around an invisible weight - deliberating how best to crush her, 'Why are you letting me live?'

He pinches the bridge of his nose, 'This shit again...'

'I want to know.'

'Clearly.'

'So...?'

'Annie, has it occurred to you that I have some questions of my own for you?' he rubs his face and when he looks at her again, the green of his irises are cloudy with exhaustion, 'Why don't we give and take from each other? Take a seat,' a hand motions to the empty chair opposite him, 'And let's _talk_. Like normal people.' a pause, 'As hard for you as that probably is.'

Annie frowns, takes her seat anyway, 'You know about Marley already. I assume you also know about the Warriors?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I can't help you learn anything more than that. As you're aware, I left Marley when I was very young. Never had the privilege of getting tangled up in military strategy or intelligentsia. Those generals, those _men_,' nails tap on the table, '-didn't see much use for me other than to strap me to a suicide mission.'

'I know that already.' he grins, ignoring the bait and Annie bristles, 'Ha... You talk a lot for someone who hasn't heard my question yet.'

'Who said I'd let you go first? I refuse to partake in this discussion unless you tell me the reason why-'

'I want you to be free. That's why.'

His words birth poison fruit, the thorny branches of which pierce her from the inside. There's an ache in her abdomen. She wants him, wants this to be real; that he cares for her, even though he makes her bleed, that her blood serves a purpose manufactured solely of her own desire.

She's shaking. Eren reaches out for her hand, but she swats him away, 'What if I wanted to remain asleep? Have you thought of that?'

'Yes.'

'Well then, what the_ hell_? You're prattling on about freedom, but you're the one keeping me on a leash. You chose to wake me up, _you_.'

'And now that you're awake, you can carve out your own path for yourself.'

'What are you talking about? You mean the path _you've_ laid out for me?' she stands and so does he, this time successfully catching hold of her wrist to pull her to him. Before a lifetime of training kicks in, he catches her other wrist and manoeuvres so that they're pressed against each other, back to chest. She's supposed to kick him, but her legs are intertwined with his. It's a move she's used on him many times before, one which she emphasised would be more effective if the practitioner is bigger than the opponent. Maybe she was too good of a teacher.

She squirms, he is unmoving.

Then, he dips his head low, his leather-wood scent heady, breath warm against her ear, 'Freedom is being able to make choices and live with the consequences.'

'And what if I don't like my choices? What if I can't face what comes after them?'

'You live on anyway,' he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek, tightens his grip on her so that she won't forget she's alive, and she arches as heat strikes her belly— _ah_, his lips are _hot_, she's burning, 'You keep moving forward.'

'_Eren_,' the whole of her trembles with an emotion she isn't familiar with. Control is seeping out of every pore in her skin, it feels like, her blood rising to boiling, melting her from the inside out. She wants him to touch her more, though she deems it wise to push him away— except, she doesn't have the will to, she's already putty in his hands, 'I have _nothing_ to move towards.'

'You have me.'

'If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound as if you care for me.'

'You don't think I do?' he releases her wrists, palms the junction of her hips to her thighs. His hands are heavy, but there's not much pressure. She can shrug him off and walk away off if she wants to, and she's conscientious that he's offering her this window. When she doesn't take it, he pushes the hardness forming on his groin against her backside, a gesture that tears a throaty groan from them both, 'Do_ you_ give a shit about me?'

'Well...' her lips are dry, she licks them, 'What do you think?'

'Aren't you supposed to be answering _my_ questions now?'

'Maybe I don't trust your answers.'

'Ha... I believe that. You never did trust me.' he releases her. Annie feels his heat leave her, though a weight lingers; burdensome, a ghost of the bond she wonders was ever real. And he's pulled in by the same tangible force, wishing he could just walk away and bury the nostalgia. He positions himself far away from her, at the opposite end of the table once more, fishes into his pocket before sliding a key across over to her, 'Take it back. I don't want it.'

Annie tucks a blonde lock behind an ear; an old habit of hers triggered by discomfort. He takes his seat, she does not mirror him. 'What do you mean I never trusted you?'

'Exactly as you heard it.'

'You're wrong.'

'Am I? How so?'

'I let you touch me,' she surprises herself with her own forward confession. Too late to turn back on it now. Not that she wants to, because he needs to know, _she_ needs him to know that at some point— 'I trusted you then.'

'Thereafter, you accused me of forcing myself onto you.'

'And you believed me?'

'Doesn't matter. I care more about what _you_ believe. I don't want to make you feel like you're in a situation wherein you have no choice.' he waits for a response, which she does not give, and so he continues, 'Do you feel that way? With me?'

Briefly, she glances at the door, slightly ajar. There's no time to shut it, this air is too thin to break away from. This could all crumble if she isn't careful. Annie's eyes fly to her former classmate, who she suspects is more of a mentor nowadays than she. And she succumbs to the gravity of him, walking with deliberate slowness because he has to see her, _really see her_ for what she is.

She brings her heel up and leans to the side to slide off a boot.

Eren sees white; pale, sickly. There go her pants; she's undone the buttons, zipped it down, the garment pools to the ground, joined soon by her jacket and hoodie. His second sighting of her naked is less exciting than the first, although his throat closes in when she undoes her bra. This is the first good look he has of her, now that he actually has the courage to face her, unlike the last time. She's fuller than what he imagined she'd be back in the day when they were sparring. He notices the curve of her hips, which was subtle in her younger years. Is she ready? She looks the part, but still, she's in the dark. This disturbs him.

Oh, but she's so human. Soft and warm, too warm, it's unbearable when she sits on his lap with her legs on either side of his, and mouths his jaw, '_Annie_.'

She drags her teeth to his throat. His fly is undone, he's exposed; she strokes him although the encouragement is more detrimental than helpful at this point.

'Annie— do you want me?'

She pulls herself up to take his lips with hers, rough enough for him to question whether it's pleasure or pain she's chasing after. This might not even be about _them_ at all; could just be about her, about what she can make him feel, how she can destroy him without needing to shift. All a part of her game, one wherein she makes all the rules and breaks them. He can't win, but he won't let her, either.

'Come on...' she tugs him forward, 'Kiss me.'

'Aren't we...?'

'With _tongue_.'

'Is that what you want?'

Brushing his inquiry off, she leans in again, only for him to hold her still by the waist. It feels like rejection, an experience Annie hasn't developed the constitution for despite being struck by it so many times. She grits her teeth, takes him by the member and squeezes just so. He grunts, bucks up, and his hands tremble but do not retreat. Somehow, she feels them tight on her neck.

'You see...' he manages, 'I'm not really into women who aren't into me.'

'I don't like begging.'

'Not asking you to beg. Just wondering if this— if _I_ — am really what you want, is all.'

'Yes. Yes, you are.'

Doubts linger at the back of his mind but he allows her tongue into his mouth, kisses her right back. He tells himself that he's going to be vigilant regardless. It's a lost cause when she's real, and he's been pining after her for so many years. He pulls away abruptly to remove his shirt. Can't have her ripping this one to shreds, too.

Her interest is taken by the skin of him. She kisses his shoulders, collarbone, down an impressive column earned in battle. He doesn't at all resemble the boy she remembers. The only memento she has of who he used to be is the flare of his eyes; brilliant and wild, they're distinctively him. His fire singes her. She welcomes the smoke that knocks the air out of her.

Eren lifts her up again so they can kiss, and something's wrong (or right). She's dizzy, her vision's hazy, the room is wobbling, and she can't focus on anything for too long; whether it's his heat or scent or taste, these sensations spin in a flurry in her head, messy but not confusing. She can't breathe, not well.

A hand comes up to the back of his head, fisting hair and yanking him back. She's trying to regain some semblance of composure, but her fluttering lashes give her away. Vivid greens fixate on her— that's about all she can register clearly, those passionate eyes of his that stand out in the dark.

'Annie. I want you to enjoy every second of this— do you understand me?'

She nods.

His arms come around to embrace her, drawing her in so closely to him that his forearms dig into her ribs. It's a fair warning; there will be pain. She's cognisant of this as she rolls her hips to take him in. The initial intrusion hurts a bit, he could've waited for a moment. But he forgets her, places his hands on the depression of her spine and thrusts upwards. Her head tilts back, can't help herself when the pleasure increases tenfold as he moves with loving recklessness. He draws her in, hoping she won't fall, inadvertently strikes something good deep inside that has her shuddering and arching her back bow-taut to the syllabication of his name.

'_E-ren_.'

He almost finishes. She most certainly has. Thankfully, he takes the opportunity to slow his rhythm, recovering his vitality— she doesn't make it easy with the look she gives him, wanton and desperate, cold blue framed by her thick, dark lashes. He's never seen her likes this, and wishes he hadn't. Because she's too unlike her mask, too much like herself, and he sheds the last of his qualms.

Eren picks her up by the back of her thighs, pushes her back onto the table. Its cool surface is inviting against her searing flesh. She cries out, grimaces. But the lascivious spark in her gaze burns brighter, her hands scrambling for purchase on his big arms. He won't have any of it; he takes her wrists and pins them on either side of her head. The expression she wears takes on a vulnerable hue, and still-

'_Annie_, do you trust me?'

'Yes.'

'Do you really trust me, right here, right now?'

'Yes.'

'Ah,_ fuck_—,' he snaps his hips forward, goes faster for both their sakes'. She writhes underneath him, she should stop or he won't last much longer. He leans into her, close enough to pass off as one being, foreheads touching; she smells like him, it's intoxicating. She grunts from his weight, though she's giddy from the proximity of their bodies and the handsome lines of his charming features, 'Why couldn't you trust me when it mattered? I would've protected you, I-' he grinds into her harder and she screams her curses, 'I wouldn't have let them hurt you.'

She comes apart again, chewing on her bottom lip in a vain effort to silence herself. Deciding that her particular brand of red isn't a good colour on her, he shoves the web between his thumb and forefinger between her teeth, drawing blood as he spills into her. White blinds him, and she reminds him of where they are by her bite.

There's a relentless drum beating in his ears. Is it his heart or hers?

Annie had forgotten hers until now, as its hundred shards scatter over them. In another life, what could have been? Living by the skin of a monster who won't admit it isn't human; she can't run from this truth, crystallised or not.

He kisses her brow, '... Are you OK?'

'Yes.'

'Ah.'

'And you?'

'Yeah, but, uh...' he gets to his feet, wobbles, exhales shakily as he zips himself up— the fabric below his waistline is wet, 'I'm worried, kind of.'

Annie smiles, 'Don't be. I had fun.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

Eren can't stop the grin forming on his face, which is still flush from what they've done. He's aware of how excited he appears, avoids meeting her eyes for that and a few other reasons. He picks her clothes up from the ground, throws it carelessly over to her. Clearly, he's uncomfortable with her nakedness.

Annie's smile reaches her barbed bones. He's still so innocent, so easily impassioned, even after all these years.

'So,' he glances over to her to make sure she's decent, turns to face her as he pulls his shirt down, 'Do you still want to see your father?'

Annie freezes mid-zip. If not for her boot sliding down, she would've stayed paralysed. She clears her throat, resumes dressing herself, 'Of course.'

'Come with me, then. To Marley.'

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who are interested in this story! This was a challenging chapter to write. There are concepts I wanted to stand out, but found ****difficult to weave in the characterization/plot. I hope to hear your thoughts on this!**

**For the guest accounts I can't respond privately to, I'll do so below.**

**_paramyth_, to be honest I'm not entirely sure whether he is or isn't, either! I'm still trying to figure that out for myself. I'm allowing him to evolve with what feels natural. Thank you for your kind review!**

**_cheyenne_, thank you for your kind words!**


	7. Return To Marley

Midnight is when they depart for Marley - a voyage that shouldn't take longer than three days. According to Eren, they're using an unlisted steamboat assembled in Hizuru, courtesy of the Azumabito family who have allegedly been persuaded by Zeke to partake in this operation. At the implication of foreign cooperation, Annie's gut coils. Just what are those brothers planning? Zeke's always been a mystery, but Eren is a tried and true soldier.

What inconceivable middle ground could those two share?

She decides she doesn't want to jeopardise her chances of getting home, so in the meantime she opts out of asking questions.

_You're almost home_, she tells herself, _Do what it takes to get **home**._

She's shown to her room, which is opposite Eren's. Feels strange to have walls between them, but she supposes she doesn't want his poison when she should be steeling herself for the impossibilities finally within reach. Marley, her father; she's reverting back to the life she once knew. The notion doesn't excite her. Nowadays, she sleeps better.

Two nights pass quickly. In this time, Annie barely eats. Nausea hits her now and again, has her vomiting on the toilet while sweat beads on her forehead. It's been years since she's been at sea, so she hypothesises that she's just not used to the swaying of the floor anymore. Or maybe it's the anticipation of reunion? She doesn't care, just wants to ride it out. Back to avoiding people (Eren) again, because all she needs is_ Dad_, who's allegedly on her side even if the world goes to shit.

It's already a shit show, though. She dare not remind him.

On the third evening, she takes her last chance to stargaze in the dark. By pure luck, the moon is at its fullest. It's a mesmerising light, shrouded in blue-black peppered with glittering silver. One can't tell where the water ends and the sky begins. This peaceful endlessness is nostalgic. Like her crystal slumber, which is a fleeting memory now; a surprisingly comforting one. There are small pleasures in this world, after all.

Annie remembers the aftermath of her first time. It wasn't magical, not like Hitch said it would be. Must have been the witching hour when she stirred awake, moonlight seeping into her room, goosebumps forming on her arms and back from the chill. Her eyes had taken a while to adjust, so she palmed the sheets searching for_ him_. Eren was nowhere to be found. She still hasn't forgiven him for that.

_Maybe in another life— ah, but we only have** this** life._

On the way back to her bedchamber, she spots Eren in front of her door with one fist hovering over the steel surface. Her presence is not known to him; she's spent most of her warrior duties as a spy for a reason. Eren drops his hand, heel stiffening as if he's going to turn on it, then settles back into its former position. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It's a pitiful sight. She spares him the humiliation, 'You're trying to get into the wrong room,' she calls out.

Startled eyes fly to her. He grins, 'Or the right one. This is where you stay, right?'

'Yes.'

'Then I'm not mistaken.'

'Ah,' she stops right by the door, in front of him, 'To what do I owe the pleasure, then?'

'Annie Leonhart, are you implying that our little trysts bring you pleasure?'

'Is that not obvious?'

'Dunno. It's always hard to tell with you. I'm glad, though, that it's pleasure I give you,' his voice is soft as he speaks, soothing. Like a kiss, like a butterlfly's wings beating against her cheek. She relaxes her shoulders, undoes the tense stitching of her features. He notices, and feels bold, 'Can I come into your room with you?'

'Hm? Growing fond of me, Eren?' she cocks her head to the side; he sees the whiplash of pain in her eyes, 'I suppose I can give you one last fuck for the road.'

'We don't have to _do it_ if you don't want to.'

Annie shifts her weight from one foot to the other, 'Then... What would we do?'

'Whatever you want. Talk, maybe.'

'I'm not good at that.'

'I know.'

She bristles, 'Then what the _fuck_, Eren? What do you suppose we do? What is the _point—_' she recoils from her stomach, reflexively places a hand on his chest._ Are you OK,_ he might've said (she can't hear him well) as he catches her by the waist. She shoves him off with more force than necessary and keys the lock to her room. There's no time to shut it behind her. She speeds for the bathroom, and hunches over the toilet to expel the contents of her empty stomach.

When she's finished, she doesn't have much strength. She presses her cheek to the seat and whimpers. A warm hand that does not belong to her rubs circles on her back. It's soon joined by another, and they move to her underarms to help her to her feet. She obliges, though she can't look at him, can't assume the responsibility of sparking a conversation about what could be.

Wordlessly, Eren tends to her. He guides her wobbly frame to her bed, pulls the sheets up and over her body with so much delicacy, it's as if he's wrapping a gift for someone special. His genteel isn't lost on Annie, who can't help but smile bitterly at the gesture. For someone so full of fire and hate, he treats her well. Is it because he sees the brittle bones beneath her mask, or is it a deep-seated attachment inside of him? She musters up the courage to look at him. His eyes are already on her, searching. For what? She's hollow inside.

He offers a small smile.

She thinks he's got a handsome face, attractive in a magical way, like looking at the ocean on a sunny day. He may not sparkle like the beams of light that bounce off blue, but he's just as terrifying as the endless unknown beneath the crashing waves. If she's not careful, she'll be caught up in his tide. And even though she's the type of weak person who goes along with the flow of forces beyond her, she can't submit to _him_; there's no arguing with him, this stupid boy. Caught up in ideals that have nothing to do with reality, as if she's going to buy into the illusion that he _wouldn't_ crush her—

'Why did you spare me?'

'Hm?'

Annie sits upright, and clarifies, 'Back in Stohess, all those years ago. You tore me apart. Then—_' _he reaches for her cheek, runs his fingertips along her skin. Her lashes flutter at his touch, but his charm is a trick she's trained herself to resist and she catches her breath somehow, '_—_ You let me go.'

'Hm.'

'Why?'

'You _know_ why.'

She shakes her head,_ no I don't_. He's aware that she's still in the dark and yet he chooses to keep her there; uncharacteristic of him, she deems, for he's always prattled on about freedom and autonomy and whatnot and _even so_, he's purposely blindsiding her, 'Tomorrow, when we dock at Marley - are you letting me go then, too?'

'That's right.'

'Why, Eren?'

'Hey— lay back down, you're not well.'

'_Why_, Eren?' she presses, swats his hand away and ignores his deflection, 'Why spare me then? Why spare me _now_?'

He leans over to press a hard kiss to her cheek; a move that stuns her silent, albeit the faintest gasp escapes her when she feels his teeth cold against her. He smells different, nice; sun-kissed saltwater in the dead of night. Annie is unfazed; not even frightened of him, more so of herself, of the fact that she doesn't believe he can bring himself to hurt her.

_When did I become so stupid?_

'Or are you gathering all the dogs to shoot at once?' she swallows, 'What will you do when we arrive? Where will you go?'

'There's an apartment that's being rented out for me.'

'_Where_?'

'Liberio.'

There's a revelation: instantly, Annie's insides liquify into sickening bile that threatens to erode her intestinal lining. She shrinks away from him, places distance, 'That's my hometown.'

'Oh.'

It takes a long minute for her to recover, 'What are you planning to do?'

'Oh... Nothing.'

_Don't fuck with me!_ she wants to yell, but she's aware that reacting isn't going to do much besides amuse him, possibly. She scrambles to get herself in order and searches his ominously green eyes. They shift to a phenomenal violet beneath the light of the night, and Annie aches in her chest. He's changed, and she isn't quite sure whether it's for the better. There's an alien frigidity to his demeanour, a darkness to his determination that burns his fire brighter than in his teenage youth.

Suddenly, she feels unsafe.

'I'll be staying at 731 Algate Road. The room on the second floor, on the far left. Or so I've been told.'

'Why are you telling me this?' she's incredulous and it shows in every way, 'What, you think you can just go into hiding while I'm living silently in the same town?'

'You are free. The choices you make are yours and yours alone.' a pause for him to think, and he decides that if these are the last words he ever tells her that he shall speak only the truth, 'You can betray me, sell me out to Marley... It's your choice. When we separate tomorrow, there won't be anyone around to keep an eye on you. But I promise that no matter what, _Annie_ —_' _a sharp inhale, his voice nearly cracks over what comes next, and that split second of vulnerability brings back the feeling of safety he's always given her, 'I won't hate you.'

It's the closest thing Annie's gotten to a confession of human connection. Coming from an enemy soldier, she shouldn't feel the pull of his words, but she _does_ and it's tortuous; controlling herself in this situation is akin to ripping her own heart into shreds. A part of her wants to thank him and apologize for what she's done, but she's not naive to think that he won't see the hypocrisy behind her outburst.

Unsure of what to do with the unexpected sting of her emotional dilemma, she lays back down and rolls over to the other side, turning her back to him. She feels his eyes on her, burning her skin, and then he stands; though she cannot see him and he does not touch her, the silhouette of his towering presence presses its weight onto her and she feels guilty, so _guilty_.

She shuts her eyes.

Maybe he'll disappear— maybe they'll_ all_ disappear— and this'll turn out to be just an ugly dream.

When she wakes up, she hopes she's just an ordinary girl.

* * *

**...**

* * *

'Get up.'

Annie stirs. There's a hand shaking her insistently (nervously) by the shoulder.

'Get up, I said. Hurry, or you'll be heading right back to Paradis.'

She opens her weary eyes because heavens forbid she find herself right back there because she didn't have the discipline to simply wake up on time. The sight that greets her is that of a man she's seen working in the mess room of the vessel. She's never spoken to him, and wonders why it isn't someone more familiar touching her.

'Where's Er— Yeager?'

'He left already.'

_He left without saying goodbye?_ 'What do you mean?'

He shrugs, 'You were still sleeping when Mr. Yeager had to leave an hour ago. We're sneaking you into the intermittent zone by boat. Gotta move quickly while the guards leave their posts for their breaks.'

There's a bitter taste in her mouth as she hurries to get to the boat. She takes her seat on wood as yet another stranger she's faced with wordlessly paddles to their destination. It's a misty day; she can hardly see anything amidst the cloudy formations that tickle her skin cooly, but this _scent_; oh, the scent of the Marleyan seas that last graced her nose in childhood - to think that she'd be able to inhale this air, this _place_ again.

In her heart resides not an ounce of devotion to Marley. She never enjoyed being a devil amongst self-proclaimed saints, just tuned it out because it wasn't as if she really had any other choice. Instead, what kicks her emotions into turbulence is the confirmation that she's finally made it back and that her father is within her reach; his mirage has her trembling.

She's told to be careful when she's dropped off under the bridge where the Marleyan guards frequent for a quick smoke. She's not worried. After all, she's a talented spy, and if the landscape is just as she remembers it then sneaking past the border is an easy task even without her papers. It's a feat that she accomplishes without much effort. Nevertheless, trepidation sits at the back of her mind: What if someone recognises her? Sure, she's older but she's frankly barely grown in height and her despondent appearance is telling.

Except, no one looks her way for so much more than a glance, really. Usually these are aimed at her left arm, below her shoulder. Most likely they wonder if she's Marleyan, or how on earth she'd forgotten her armband. Self-conscious now, Annie pulls her hood up over her head and picks up her stride. It's not so far away now...

She turns round a corner which gives way to a rural area. The cottages are few and far apart. The mist is more prominent here, so it's hard to make out what's ahead. But Annie doesn't need to see, for the grass beneath her boots is a map etched onto the back of her eyelids. She's walked this path many times before, in an endless slumber, reliving the same fantasy that kept her cozy in her self-manufactured solitude.

It's right there.

Her house has changed. The bags of rolled up cloth that are meant for kicking practice can no longer be found, and the horrifying possibility that her father may have died in her absence dawns on her. Fear is on her tongue. She fights it, moves forward, and knocks on the door.

Silence.

She tries again. One, two. Tries harder: _one, two_.

She hears a tap on the ground, then faint footsteps approaching.

She wants to turn back. She's not ready.

It's too late. The door swings open and her father is in front of her. He wears a hat now, probably because he's balding. He's always been vain, her most fond memories of him when he'd let a joke or two slip during produce shopping at the market, _That cute vendor just winked at me, Annie. Your dad's a stud!_ or when his hairline started to recede and she silently rejoiced because he'd spend hours in front of the mirror, massaging his temples to apparently stimulate a healthy hairline for _hours_, effectively delaying the onset of her training for the day.

He doesn't speak for the longest time. His eyes, an icy blue like hers, bulge out of their sockets. Age is inevitable; there's a hunch to his back and the shock of her arrival causes him to momentarily lose his balance, toppling slightly on his cane. Instinctively, she reaches for him, steadies him by his elbows. His hand lands on her forearm, twitches when he feels her warmth, and she knows he feels as weightless as she does.

'I-It can't be, it absolutely_ cannot be_— _Annie_?'

She nods.

Mr. Leonhart's knees give out. He melts, a shivering creature on the floor, and Annie wants to cry because she's never seen him look so frail before. His arms reach up for her. She wants to accompany him on the ground, but she's frozen in place, eyes wide and fearful and her discomfort is clear in the way her spine stiffens her bow-taut. He wraps his arms around her thighs, digs his forehead into her hipbone. It's painful for her, but she permits it. His tears are wet on her clothes. They encourage her own, though hers do not fall; they never did, not with him.

Is she allowed to cry in front of him? Would he think less of her?

She wants this image of her to be strong, just the way he's always wanted her to be.

'I can't believe it. _Annie_— you're... _how_? H-How could you—'

Words jumble into a blubbering mess. He makes no sense, yet she understands. She understands, for she can do no better herself.

Eventually, Mr. Leonhart calms down enough for Annie to be able to help him up and guide him into their home. Everything is as she left it, albeit cloaked with a thin layer of time. She sets her father down on his usual seat, the one he used to prop himself down on for their meals, all of which he had cooked himself. This is the first time he's crying at the table, his delicate fingers which once used to ball into rock fists desperately search for her, crawling up her arm with no real aim.

'Annie, Annie—'

'Dad, come on. I'm OK,' she manages, and he finally hears her voice; he can't recognise his progeny in it.

'Oh, Annie,' he croaks before another episode of sobbing, 'I'm so sorry.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

It takes a few days for Mr. Leonhart to acclimate to Annie's return. He spends most of his time sleeping, so on the rare moments when he has to get up to go to the bathroom or make some food (which he makes too little of because he forgets that he's feeding two now), the sight of his own daughter still distresses him. His jaw always, always drops, and she has to speak before he's able to compose himself again, and still he can't do much without her assistance.

Ultimately, he adjusts. He's happy, even.

His leg's gotten worse. Annie tries not to look at it.

'I'm proud of you,' he says every day, and she smiles because it's all she's ever wanted to hear from him. As a kid, the mundane conversations about where to strike opponents best and evaluating hypoethetical battle situations were worthwhile whenever he'd praise her. Fractured shins, bruised knees, swelling in her thighs: all worth it, if he'd just smile at her. Now, she doesn't have to so much as lift a finger. It feels nice, it just...

_Doesn't feel like it was worth it._

'How did you do it?'

'What?' she's preoccupied with the dishes she's offered to wash, and he's behind her on the couch, 'The mission was a complete failure. Just got out of there alive, that's all I accomplished.'

'That's what I'm asking you. How did you do it?'

'What do you mean, Dad?'

'Surrounded by those devils,' he sneezes into his sleeve, 'How did you make it out alive?'

A pang of guilt shoots up her spine, evolves into a phantom spider and latches onto her vertebrae like it's trying to tear it right out of her. It takes all she has to play it off, as if she doesn't have nightmares of the ghosts she's left behind.

She comes up with a bullshit excuse, doesn't even remember what she said; maybe something like, _oh yeah Dad, it was all the training we did! Helped a lot!_

He kisses her goodnight and departs for his room.

It's strange.

At last, she's at home, but she doesn't feel that it's a home at all, let alone hers.

_You still don't get it, Dad: **I** was the devil._

* * *

**Thank you so much for the warm reception last chapter, and the continued support for this story! I hope to hear your thoughts about it.**

**I was really excited to write this chapter as the concepts I explore here are why I started this particular story to begin with. The preceding events have deviated from the original outline, but this chapter is the beginning of a series of events that I've truly wanted to try writing.**

**I've always liked the idea of Annie and her father not having a healthy or comfortable relationship, even though they have love for each other. I wonder, if Annie was able to make it home, would she still be happy with someone who has such extreme beliefs? Well, Annie was never a happy character but in this story, I want her to at least realise what being would mean for her, even if she doesn't get it in the end.**

**paramyth, thank you so much for your kind words! More characters will definitely be involved from here on out, and some conflicts will arise. I'm glad you're able to empathise with Annie last chapter. I'm really interested in exploring her psyche. She's going to go through a mental/emotional transformation in the upcoming chapters, so I'm really excited to write it! Eren's motives are also going to become clear soon.**


	8. On Their Knees

Marleyan mornings are cold. Annie is reminded of this as she shivers in the haze of early day, her toes cracking as she wiggles them free from their frozen spell. It's been almost two weeks now that she wakes up in the same bed, yet it still takes her several beats to remember that she's in her own bedroom. The air is frigid, as unwelcoming as it had been in her childhood. Although, the atmosphere is unfamiliar.

She wishes she'd never escaped her crystal, then retracts her thoughts because her father sleeps in the other room.

Holding a pillow close to her chest, she challenges her mind to recreate the sensation of a man's embrace; not the one from her father, not the desperate one dripping with guilt and self-preservation - the one that feels safe and confident and mysterious, from someone she can't read but understands almost purely based on empathy. And she fails, because the pillow is soft and cold, while Eren's arms are hardened from battle, his skin blooming heat and fire that snakes down her spine.

She remembers where and who she is; the magic is gone.

Her routine is unexciting. She showers, gets dressed, heads downstairs to make breakfast for two. Initially, her father was opposed to the idea as he had tasked himself with preparing his own meals for decades, but his bad leg gnaws at Annie's conscience and she doesn't mind cooking. It gives her something to do.

'Good morning.' Mr. Leonhart takes his seat at the dining table. The wooden chair creaks from his graceless landing; his once athletic body is showing signs of wear. Annie pretends not to notice the progression of his increasingly frail stature.

'Good morning, Dad.'

'You're up early. Well, I suppose you're always up before me... That's a good thing, isn't it?'

'Yes, Dad.'

'If you wake up so early, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to get a few hours of kicking practice in before breakfast,' he pauses only to light a cigarette, takes a long drag, puffs out a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. He relaxes into conversation. Annie stiffens by the stove. 'You've gained weight since I saw you last.'

'_Probably_. I did hit puberty quite a while ago.'

'You could be leaner. Your current physique is problematic for practical reasons.'

As Annie turns away from him, she narrows her eyes. _I have boobs and a huge ass now too, will those be **problematic** as well?_ she wants to ask. But, no. He forces herself to eat quietly while her father prattles on in front of her about an exercise regime she should dedicate herself to. Not a word leaves her.

Suddenly, her gut somersaults, compelling her to beeline for the bathroom. This being only the second time his daughter has ever interrupted a speech of his, Mr. Leonhart is shocked into silence. He watches as Annie rushes out, not bothering to excuse herself. When she's out of sight, he gets up with the help of his cane to make his way to her. She's not OK— he hears her retching.

'You must be adjusting,' he says. Those cold eyes of his that he passed on to his daughter scans over her hunched frame on the floor; stray strands of blonde hair stick to the sweat of her nape, and her already pale skin drains of vitality. She looks like her mother.

He's tired, so he leans his back onto the doorframe and reaches for a cigarette from the box in his pants pocket. His fingers tremble. They light a stick anyway, hold it to his lips. He inhales deeply; must be such a treat, for he closes his eyes in bliss as though he's reached Nirvana, before exhaling rings of smoke from his lungs.

'You want a smoke?'

She nods, 'Yes, Dad.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

'When do you plan on reporting to Magath?'

Annie nearly drops the dishes she's doing. If not for the possibility that her father would have to dig into his savings if she broke his only set of ceramic plates, she would have maybe even flung one at the wall out of frustration. He's still knee-deep in ideaologies that have no place in the real world, even after all this time— to the point where he's willing to hand over his daughter, who he hasn't seen in nearly a decade, over to the same government that sent her on suicide mission in the first place.

She's not even disappointed.

'Annie— answer me.'

She puts the plates away carefully to dry on the rack, 'I wasn't planning on it, Dad.'

'Why not?'

'Because they'll kill me.'

'But the military needs to know you're alive. Preparations need to be made before you expire,' he sounds offended that she hasn't thought of anyone other than herself in this situation, 'The Female Titan _must_ remain in Marley's hands. What if a baby is born with your abilities, but from across the ocean? Imagine if those filthy island devils—'

She holds back tears, dries her hands, and takes her seat in front of him. He's still going off on her, but this is a dance she knows all the steps to. If she's a good girl, it'll all be over soon. Absolute obedience; there's no use fighting it, or she'll become more of a monster than she already is. And she loves her father; she really, wholeheartedly does.

He just makes it so difficult.

_If someone told you to die, would you do it?_

She talked big when she had presented this question to Armin and Connie, knowing fully well that they'd inevitably dedicate themselves to what their society believed to be the only path that led to freedom. Armin had said that she was kind because she didn't want them to join the Survey Corps— he was wrong. She just didn't want to kill them, didn't want to carry their ghosts on her back. Already, she feels too heavy.

Because she wanted to live, and go back to Dad, and spend the rest of her life with him. Except, he wants her dead, although she supposes he's _always wanted her dead_; starting from the day he took an oath to train her like a soldier instead of love her like his daughter. Laughable really, how stupid she is, plucking the lives out of the innocent without hesitation, as if she had simply blown on daffodils— all for Dad, who doesn't see her as human.

'I'm aware of how this sounds,' her father reaches forward, takes her hand in his; he's so cold, clammy, 'I won't ask you to forgive me. But you understand, don't you? We have to fulfil our purpose to the very end.'

Annie silently reaffirms her love for her father, forgives him for what he's doing to her.

She vows never to do the same to her child.

* * *

**...**

* * *

_She doesn't really get injured during hand-to-hand combat practice, but it happens. _

_This is one of those moments wherein her hubris is her undoing, forgetting what Dad taught her about precision when executing a throw. Thought it wouldn't matter, considering how often she's spun Eren around in the air, but he surprises her with the force of his strike so that even though she's able to counter him, the collision shocks her body. By the sting of her left ankle, it seems that it's taken the brunt of his weight when she forced him backwards._

_It might hurt, but she's had worse. She doesn't so much as wince; Dad said not to look weak, not ever. Her mask is perfectly in place, unmoving. The accelerated healing process has started so the pain won't last much longer either. She appears unscathed, save for the subtle reliance on her right leg that gives her away._

_'Annie?' Eren's voice is soft as he gets up, walks over to her like he's never seen someone so delicate in his life. __The concern etched onto his boyish features sets off an ache in her chest, so she looks away, which doesn't at all put him off, 'Did I hurt you?'_

_She shrugs, 'Not really.'_

_'You're leaning to the right, though. Does it hurt to stand on the other leg?'_

_He's asking too many questions. Annie tries and fails to swat him away with her usual indifference; he's insistent on taking her to the infirmary. They walk together, closer than she'd permit normally, his hand on her hip to support her weight, and she feels her cheeks flush with girlish delight - not that she'll ever admit it. When he drops her off, he says he's sorry, looks like he means it. She says it's fine, but he refuses to leave her side even after the nurse diagnoses her as perfectly intact. _

_'You don't have to fuss over me,' Annie tucks a lock of hair behind an ear, 'It's not like I'll stop training with you over this.'_

_'That's not it. I hurt you.'_

_'We do that to each other, yeah. It's called sparring.'_

_'Right, but, you're not like me. You're...' he trails off, goes red in the face; both intrigues and pisses her off. A beat, then he opens his mouth to speak (?) before promptly shutting it again._

_'What, Eren?' she snaps._

_'I-I mean you said it yourself, right? You're delicate.'_

It's his fault.

His, not hers.

And yet, she can't help but feel like this is all her doing, that she should have been better somehow.

Can't even be called life, really. Just blood that looks a little different than what she's used to, preceded by bouts of cramping that had her writhing in bed all night. She knew something had to be wrong, and perhaps even suspected the loss long before its confirmation; but the unexpected grief slams her only when she sees the coagulated red sliding down her legs, settling on top of the drain. It's too big to fit through the holes. The whole of her trembles, but she has to clean up.

She's still shaking when she steps out of the shower, barely manages to put her clothes on. _Should_ have done better, at least just now— instead of watching a part of her wash down into sewage water.

Maybe she's more like her father than she'd like to be.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Even over the booming sounds her legs make as they collide with the rolled up cloths her father set up by their house, Annie hears the thunking of his cane as he approaches her. Her vision's trained on the target, pent up rage clawing at her insides seeking release. She's aware of her father's gaze on her, pretty sure he's squealing inside as one of the rolls is knocked over, unfurling on the grass.

She's panting laboriously. Her heartbeat can't be faster if she'd go ahead and run a marathon, and it isn't because this exercise is too strenuous for her. Child's play, really, compared to what she's been through. No— it's the unadulterated anger that burns from her gut; at Marley, at her father, at herself. How much of a failure she is as a person, as a woman.

'Good girl, Annie. Starting to take care of your body, I see.'

Tears sting the back of her eyes; from where, she cannot begin to comprehend, not if she wants to remain a good daughter.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Coupled with the love she has for her father lies irritation in equal measure. Not that he's any special; Annie finds people annoying in general. She's gotten so used to self-manufactured solitude that she doesn't have the social proficiency to manage the feelings of others for an extended period. Normally, it's her who's pushed around. And she lets it happen, because it's all she can do when she doesn't have the constitution to recognise her worth.

(Or perhaps she does know_ precisely_ what her worth is, and it isn't much.)

Dad leaves her alone. He doesn't know what to do with her either.

She's wandering Liberio's marketplace. Dad said he wants eggplant for dinner, so she has to get those. Maybe they'll pair well with the mushrooms he's cultivated.

She pulls her hoodie up over her head, tucks her hands into the pockets, and walks with deliberate slowness. To avoid getting hit by frustrated passers-by, she moves to the side, up on the sidewalk that faces the ocean. She steals a glance at it, wonders how Eren and Armin must've reacted when he saw it for the first time. Memories of her time in Paradis bubble up her brain, bearing weight to an emotion she hasn't felt much, causing her to come to a halt— and she finds herself facing the water, blinded by the glistening white light bouncing off the surface, hands on the cool metal bars that keep Eldians from falling over or escaping.

To leave or stay: she doesn't know what she wants to do anymore. She just wants to live, but how?

'Annie.'

The call came from the left. She feigns ignorance.

'Hey, Annie...' Eren's tone turns playful, as if he's glad to see her. Makes her stomach churn; what's so great about her that he treats her as though they were still young? Even jaded, he's never lost his tenderness. And it's always made her smug to know that she's special to him, that he at least _admires_ her and wants her and finds her when she pretends she wants to be left alone.

'Piss off.'

No bite to her words, it seems, for he's undeterred. He reaches over to cup her face with both hands, turning her so that she faces him, reaffirming that he's really here and not just a figment of her wishful thinking. It's his smile that greets her, but it quickly melts. Though older and rougher, he's still gentle towards her.

'Oh, Annie... Who made you cry?'

Something tight inside of her gives; her brows furrow, eyes screw shut, and it takes all she can not to cry out. The tears flow freely now, strangely warm. He closes the distance between them and she crumbles in his arms. She's probably ruining his suit, but he doesn't mind— he just tucks the top of her head under his chin, whispering that it'll be OK and that he's here for her. She's shivering. He tightens his hold on her, rocks her slightly. It manages to tear a hushed chortle out of her.

'What?' he straightens his posture, self-conscious all of a sudden.

He feels her teeth against the fabric of his shirt, the sharp points of her nails as she fists his jacket, 'It's nothing.'

She gathers herself soon after, removing herself from his embrace when the tears have dried. Their eyes meet and he doesn't quite know what to make of the haziness of her gaze.

'Take care of yourself,' he says, and means it.

* * *

**...**

* * *

'They're all just victims of the Eldians' cruel cross-breeding! Our real enemies are the devils of Paradis!'

Eren can't take another word of it, so he storms out, leaving behind a family who's held his hand in hell. Precious comrades; they've remained by his side through it all and yet, they've never felt more distant. It's as if he's crawled into someone else's skin, living a life that isn't his, talking to strangers who treat him as though they're familiar while in reality, they don't know anything about him. Not anymore.

Surrounded by loved ones, he feels alone.

Perhaps even before his father's memories awakened within him, he's been on this same journey— a story that he only he can write the ending to, for who else but he can nail his heart to the wall and leave it there to rot? And yet there's still a part of him that doubts himself, or is afraid to shoulder the blood burden.

He's lost and, as if guided by inevitably, finds her again.

She's crying; won't tell him why, just trembles in his arms. He should be bitterly glad to see her suffering after what she's done in the past, but her sad expression always, _always_ breaks him.

When they part, he wishes her well. She doesn't return it.

There's no expectation to see her again.

Thereafter, he retires to 731 Algate Road, a place unbeknownst to his friends who followed him to Marley on another ship, and far away from the Azumabito residence. He lives in solitary, but is in the company of his thoughts. Like his father, he has his moments of weakness; however, while it was Grisha's compassion that stood in his way, it is Eren's rage that clouds his judgement. Fiery as ever, albeit nowadays he hides it better.

Along with the resentment he feels against the whole world for condemning his home as history's ugliest blot, he finds his hostility bleeding to ostracise him from those he grew up with. Because while they say they keep him close, they simply can never fathom what he's going through, what he has to go through. Not a soul on earth does, and it's this singular notion that's driving him mad.

Some nights, he can't sleep at all. Ends up pacing back and forth in his room, alternating between gritting his teeth so hard they crack and fall out, or scratching down his scalp with so much force that he bleeds out. None of it bears much consequence; he heals quickly, and supposes that the pain is an effective distraction. It's on one of these occasions that he hears a knock at his door.

He freezes. He never gets visitors. Has he been found out?

There's no keyhole for him to check who it is. He takes his chances.

He opens the door, can't help but feel a flutter in his chest at the sight of Annie. She's not crying this time.

'Couldn't stay away, hm?'

It's a light-hearted attempt at grasping what they once had, of flipping the table so that the spotlight is on her for seeking him out rather than the other way around. Except, she's not hooked on this game, and for the first time ever, presents herself without a single piece of her armour. Her vulnerability stuns him silent. He makes no move to welcome or dismiss her; he's not entirely sure which she'd prefer. Most likely she doesn't have all the answers either, for she looks up at him with eyes that he can finally read; a hundred emotions, all of which a hundred shades of longing.

_Now you know how you made me feel all these years_, he thinks, though his vitriol takes efforts to build up to: _She's the enemy, a murderer. Then again, so am I— but I don't kill **my** people, although I guess Annie **is** one of my people... But she's loyal to Marley, this won't work, her father's here and who am I to her—_

'You need something?' his tone is venomous; defensive, though he does not turn her away. Which is probably why she's not scared, fully comfortable standing by the doorway, eyes burning into his; limbo's more tolerable with company, even if it's him.

Well, she supposes they're finally close enough, lonely and lost and she hopes she's right because he's all she really has left— if he'll have her, that is. She's quiet, eerily so, and he's impatient, 'Annie... Talk,' inhales through his teeth, softly, 'Please.'

Wordlessly, she pushes her way in and locks behind her. Only then does her gaze avert, crystalline blue wobble with a burden she does not share yet is understood by her lover, who pins her to the door with the weight of his body. 'Look at me,' he commands. She does not obey.

Eren dips his head down so that his lips brush against her cheek, earning a gasp that could be mistaken for a whisper. _Make that noise again_, he nuzzles her chin, a hand coming up to the other side of her face to tip her to him. She allows this.

It isn't often that he gets to observe Annie up close for very long. He notices the texture of her skin, the unique mapping of her face; the absence of smile lines (because she doesn't smile much), the deep crease of her eyelids that Jean insisted made her so intimidating. _She looks like a vampire!_ he'd say, but Eren always thought her eyes to be alluring. And now that she's older, the fine lines of her design undress her sharpness, revealing more of who she hides.

Annie's ageing, and the notion tugs at his chest.

He presses his lips to her throat, where he can feel her heartbeat. In turn, she arches to his touch, and he drags his hands down to her waist, pulls her flush against him. 'I missed you,' he realizes how true the statement is only when he speaks it.

_Why would she come back? She's got a plan, she's not stupid— but it's Annie—_

'... Upset.'

'Hm?'

'I'm upset,' she repeats, and chokes. He feels her shake her head, muscles steeling as if to prove that she's OK. But he's familiar with her, by the quiver in her lips and the glossy sheen of her eyes that pierce him as he pulls back. He kisses her forehead. Her tears fall. He wipes them away.

He guides her to his bed, tells her to sleep.

'Where will you be?'

'Right here,' he assures, laying beside her, arms coming around to hold her, 'With you.'

Annie falls asleep soon after. Apparently, she dreams— she talks in her slumber; he might have heard his name.

* * *

**Thank you so much again to everyone supporting this story! Especially considering that some of you were disappointed last chapter when Annie's reunion with her father didn't turn out to be a happy one. Thank you anyway for accepting it, and continuing to be interested in the plot. To those I can't PM, I reply to you below.**

**paramyth, thank you for your review! That's such a heartwarming story; really speaks to the resilience of the human spirit, how we can forgive and move on. I'm glad that your friend has a good relationship with her mother now. Annie was pregnant, but she loses it in this chapter because of all the stress her body has to go through being back home. **

**Forevershine, that was actually my original plan! But I think I'll reserve Eren's scheming for the next chapters! I wanted to do some fluff lol**


	9. Jugular

For a moment, Annie thinks she's back in Paradis. Must be morning, for the air is warm from the sun's kisses that seep in through the windows, and she senses the heat of an unmistakable weight nestled beside her. Who's her bunkmate, again?

But the hum she hears comes from that of a man's low octave, prompting her eyes to snap open, startled— and that is when she sees him, on his side, utterly fixated on her.

Eren's strangely soft beneath the dimming illumination of a setting sun; his skin tints a bronze sheen that augments the brilliance of his verdant gaze, as charming as the the summer-wood scent of his skin. Traces of the boy from her adolescence remains, reflecting back at her as bursts of passion in his touch. Still, these moments are fleeting. He's overshadowed by the man he's become; so terrifyingly beautiful, that sinister vacancy in the black of his eyes.

'Hey.'

'Hey,' she returns. Feeling bold, Eren reaches over to caress her cheek. She shivers at the contact, childish pride pushes back; _He's not going to get to me so easily._ Without having the full conviction for resistance, all she manages is an attempt at a scowl. He laughs.

'You talk in your sleep,' he says, amused, as if she's supposed to be embarrassed (she kind of is). It's impossible to hide this from him when the heat rushes to her face, and he's close enough to feel the heat of her skin. Eyes on her, he drags his hand downwards, thumbing over her lips, 'Thought I'd never see you again, Annie.'

'Mm... Don't get used to this,' Annie tilts her head to kiss his wrist. She convinces herself that it's a perfunctory act of pity, that she feels sorry for him. Then she smiles into his skin, because it's really her perfect veneer that's going up in flames, and she can do nothing to stop him from consuming her down to her bones— nor does she really want to.

She has only a couple years left anyway.

'How's it going with your dad?'

Her spine stiffens, 'Well, he's my dad.'

There's an inflection in her voice that makes him wish he never asked. His arms come round to hold her, tucking her head under his chin; she feels smaller than how he remembers her, 'Do you miss the stew from back in the day or something? Doesn't feel like you're eating,' he jokes half-heartedly, pulling her up to him as close as he can, so close it sort of hurts, 'You've lost weight.'

'Mm.'

He gives her a minute. Receiving no elaboration, he presses, 'Is that on purpose?'

'Maybe.'

'Why?'

Annie shrugs, 'Perhaps I want to get in shape.'

'What made you think that you weren't fit already?'

_My impotence_, she muses, recalling the hardest fall she's taken: an evening of cramping preceding the sight of blood trickling onto the shower tiles. Trickling, until it coagulates, pools at her feet. She remembers struggling to clean it all up.

Eren observes her eyes glaze over, and he figures that her mind is wandering to a place where he may not be able to pull her out of should she sink any further. So he cups her jaw, guiding her into a deep kiss, which she returns because the familiarity of his flavour is soothing. _Fuck_, he's good, too good, like pain medicine— like something numbing and toxic, like something she needs.

Annie slides one hand atop her womb while the other fists his shirt till her knuckles turn white. She pulls him to her, tongue tending to his mouth. Her enthusiasm is easily recognised by him as neediness, and so rather than match her passion, he proceeds with caution. She tastes his bitter hesitation, and, anxious by the possibility that he _knows_, breaks away.

'What's wrong?'

She sits up, 'Nothing. It's just that I have to go now.'

His gut coils sickeningly, 'Did I do something wrong?'

'No... I'm the one who's troubling you, showing up out of the blue.'

'That's not true,' he rises so that he's levelled above her, brushes stray strands of blonde away from her face, 'You're welcome here anytime.'

Eren walks her out the building despite her protests;_ It's not necessary, we're not** together**_— her worst fears come true anyway, and the sight of a young couple attracts some attention from the older tenants smoking by the steps they descend upon. Instinctively, Annie pulls her hood up over her head, cheeks burning. She glances at her companion, who remains unfazed. _Fucking idiot_, he has no spatial awareness whatsoever. Suddenly, he meets her eyes, and she's once more painfully in awe of how beautiful the color green is when struck by sun.

He waves goodbye. She wishes he had kissed her instead.

Annie rushes to the marketplace; she'd rather not have her father wonder of her whereabouts should she return empty-handed. Besides that, she doesn't feel like being punished tonight.

If her body is going to be put through another bout of intensive training, at the very least she wants to do it to herself and not suffer at the the command of anyone else.

The vendors have started tidying up their stalls. Annie must be wearing a terribly despondent expression, for upon glancing her way, an elderly man calls for the _young blonde lady about to cry_. He approaches her, hands her a plastic bag holding two eggplants and a random assortment of berries. She thanks him, and he tells her to smile. Of course, she does not.

By the time she arrives home, her father has already prepared some stew consisting primarily of potatoes and chicken. Only one serving is set on the table, an indication that he's already eaten. He motions for her to sit. She obeys and takes in a spoonful. It's bland. Not that she can say anything because she a) isn't too bad of a daughter and b) he's right behind her, gauging her face for a reaction. She gives none.

'Thank you, Dad,' she murmurs. Wordlessly, his gaze weighs heavy on her skin. Sweat dampens her neck as she forces her attention to remain glued to the shreds of white meat swimming around in broth.

'Don't finish the potatoes. You'll get fat,' he says, then makes his way over to the seat opposite her.

He reaches for a pack in his pants pocket, flips it open, takes a cigarette out. There's a lighter in front of him, which he picks up to light the stick he's pinched between his lips. In less than a half a minute, the space between them is shrouded in smoke. Annie's oddly thankful for the split second when the gray blots her father out, and though she cannot physically breathe well, the invisible hands of this house that perpetually constrict around her neck loosen for just that moment.

He waves a hand in the direction of her food, 'I know I don't cook as well as you do.'

'No. It's good, Dad.'

He chuckles, 'Ha... You're a good kid, Annie,' takes another cig out, holds it up in front of her, 'Want one?'

'Yes, Dad. Thank you, Dad.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

Smoking isn't particularly fun for Annie. She derives no genuine pleasure from the act, nor is she necessarily developing a dependency to it. What she_ is_ addicted to, however, is the ease by which her father opens up to her when they light up together. His walls come down just a tad bit, as do hers, and while a concrete mass still remains, there's somehow room for both of them to breathe a little better.

'Dad, who'll take care of you when I'm gone?' she asks one day during one of these sessions. Unexpectedly bold coming from her, but she worries. His response is to laugh it off and_ I've been fine on my own so far, even with this bum leg— I can look out for myself._

But she asks him over and over for days until something snaps within him and Annie is reminded of his fragmented reality when he replies, 'I've got a bottle of pills I intend to chase with a glass of brandy. That'll be it for me; an easy exit, smiling as I gaze upon the birth of a new world we've been fighting for.'

Annie bristles, but she quickly collects herself. There's an itch in her hands, like she wants to punch something. She settles for palming her womb, 'And what if that day never comes?'

His attention snaps to her. Their eyes meet, and she defies him for only the second time in her life. He is the first to bend, shaking his head at her before standing up to leave. He's wobbly on his legs. She offers help. He rejects her.

He never invites her for a smoke again.

Regardless, Annie keeps the habit up. When she asks for a cigarette, he doesn't deny her— just won't join her, avoids her when he can, and he absolutely always can. They still eat together for breakfast and dinner, although these occasions weren't really pleasant to begin with. He praises the fact that nowadays she trains hard enough to give herself a limp, or that she demonstrates an impressive unhderstanding of combat techniques when she's randomly quizzed. Beyond that, he has no interest in who she is.

Annie's tired of living as an extension of her father's dream, yet she cannot live without his approval. Try as she might to placate herself, the void in her chest fills exclusively by loneliness. She's not only lost her chance to be a normal girl; she's also successfully alienating the one person who she thought would love her even if every other creature alive comes to hate her. The more she pretends to be the perfect weapon he's always wanted, the further away she feels from him and from herself.

'We can wait till you fall ill before informing the military that you're alive.'

Annie isn't thankful for her father's insincere attempt at leniency.

* * *

**...**

* * *

The realisation kicks in that she can no longer stand another day without respite. So she waits for her father to retire to his bedroom, pretends to do the same. She reckons that she should leave an hour after silence has befallen the house, and she does just that, fleeing in the middle of the night as quietly as a shadow.

In the evening, Liberio is dimly lit by streetlights. When she was a kid, a curfew had been put in place for Eldians. Violators were to be shot on site.

Today, there stands no such threat. That law no longer exists, and yet, her shoulders are heavy with guilt she does not fully comprehend. It has her fingers trembling as she holds a cigarette to her mouth. The nicotine fails to placate her. Half-finished, it already tastes stale. She crushes it with the heel of her boot.

731 Algate Road: Annie doesn't need a key to enter the run-down building. The room on the second floor, the unit to the far-left; she should be nervous, but there are no butterflies - only relief when she hears footsteps approach the door after she knocks.

Eren is surprised to see her. She tries not to mirror his reaction to her, but it's an impossibility to overlook just how much he's aged since she saw him last. There are dark bags under his eyes, fine lines where he's not had any before, and though he's not lost any weight in his body, his cheeks have sunken in so that the angular map of his face is all the more striking.

Annie doesn't know where to begin, how to explain herself, or if he even cares to hear her out when he's clearly distraught himself.

'I'm having wine. You're welcome to join me,' he steps aside, beckons her inside with an arm. She enters, he shuts the door behind him, 'Take the bed.'

She obeys. His bed is neat. He probably hasn't laid in it all day, which Annie thinks is funny considering that if she were in his position (alone and free,) she'd glue herself to the mattress. She smells him on the sheets: oak, and leather— reminds her of sex.

The clacking of his heels on the creaking floor commands her attention. She observes him from beneath her lashes while he props himself on the only proper seat in the room, set by a small round table good for two.

'Drinking alone again?' Annie catches a whiff of an open bottle of alcohol placed on the table— definitely_ not_ wine.

Defiant, he takes a swig, 'Have a better idea to pass the time?'

'You could read some books.'

'Eh... I'll pass, not my thing.'

'Hmph,' she leans back on the heel of her palms, biting back a smile when she notices him momentarily scanning her up and down, 'Well, I don't believe that you like drinking by yourself all that much either.'

His tongue glosses over his front teeth. He's in thought for a beat of silence, then, 'How would you know that?'

She shrugs, 'Just a feeling.'

He casts his gaze downwards, seemingly preoccupied with the texture of his own fingers.

Annie isn't one to pry; she has no right to care for another, nor does she have the social sophistication to. But seeing Eren so uncharacteristically dejected, a far cry from who she remembers him to be in his youth; it's disturbing to look at, a raw cavity in her bones.

Her voice is small, 'Do you want to talk about it?'

Eren scoffs, rubs his face, 'Ha. Shocking.'

'What is?'

'You. That you out of all people would be the one to ask me about my feelings. But, you know,' he sits up straight, reddening eyes catch hers. The back of her lids sting, _why does it hurt this badly to see him upset?_ 'I doubt you came here to comfort me.'

Annie fists the sheets around her, 'It's not a bother. If you need someone, I'm here.'

'Annie.'

'Mm?'

'I'm sorry. I woke you up because I was scared. Thought, maybe I won't have to be so alone if I at least have you, but then you kept going on and on about your dad and Marley and—' he grits his teeth, swallows, 'I never saw you in my future back then. I still don't, I—_ fuck_.'

She wants to touch him. Why isn't she scared?

Eren gets up, 'Sorry. Forget it,' exhale, inhale, 'I'm going for a walk.'

'I'll go with you.'

'No. You rest.'

'But I came to _see you_.'

He freezes because this is either a) a trick or b) true; the latter, he cannot fathom. So he looks to her for an answer.

She's sort of blushing. And her eyes are angry, embarrassed. Like he had walked in on a private moment.

The temptation to run away prickles his nape, but she beckons him over with a pat on her thigh. He follows because she's beautiful, although he remains astute to the possibility that this is all a ploy to kill him, or hand him over to Marleyan authorities. He doesn't trust her but he _wants_ her— the only person who has nothing to gain from trying to understand him, and still cares enough to _ask_.

Eren kneels in front of her, hands caressing up and down her calves. Her fingers comb through his chestnut locks, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. They stay that way for a while, his breath hot on her abdomen, till she pulls him gently (when is she ever gentle?) down to her lap, the side of his face pressed on top of her thighs. She smells like grass and rain. She must live in a rural area.

One hand entangled in his hair, the other travels to knead a tense shoulder. He hisses, squeezes her ankles just so, but she presses down harder on his knotted muscles, 'What the hell—' he barks, tries to jolt free, except Annie tugs him back down, the _bitch_.

'You've got to unwind,' she hums.

Sounds like a threat.

Eren submits to his position, loosening his grip. He doesn't anticipate an attack, not like this, even if her techniques are shameless. This is most likely just another one of her power trips, reminding him that he's uniquely weak when it comes to her; it's one thing to desire her, another to spare her. He can't decide which of the two is unforgivable. Ah well, he's beyond redemption either way.

'Why don't you see me fitting into your future?'

He clucks, 'Are you seriously asking me that question?'

'Mmhmm.'

'I don't know... I just didn't see you.'

'Didn't? So you do, now?'

'... No.'

'Haha. That hurts.'

It really does. As if to lick her wounds, he takes the hand tending to his sore body, holds it in his to kiss. She stops playing with his hair.

* * *

**...**

* * *

She departs as soon as a the dark night tints early grey. Her father won't be up for another hour. That's enough time for her to return without him knowing she's ever left.

The floor is cold, harsh on her toes. The air is no more merciful, and she's sucking her breath in through her teeth as she picks up her clothes scattered on the wood at her feet. She haphazardly dresses herself, glancing back over her shoulder to check on Eren: his hair is a mess sticking to his forehead, and his mouth hangs open— Annie prays he's having a nice dream.

Then she slips out unnoticed.

By the time her father hobbles down the steps to the kitchen, Annie has already set food on the table. He smiles, asks her if she's done some training. _Yes Dad_, is the answer, _I'm working hard, Dad._

* * *

**...**

* * *

'Does your dad know about me?'

'Of course not, shut up,' Annie snaps, nudging him back with her shin, 'Don't talk about him.'

Eren relents, sinks back between her legs. He begins a tortuous trail of open-mouthed kisses along her skin, setting fire to the butterflies in her stomach. They bat their wings wildly, threatening to come up her throat when he darts his tongue out to taste. Annie writhes, snaps her head to the side, and chews around her knuckles. There's a spell that has her locked into a hypnosis, an illusion wherein the maddening colours of his heat don't singe, but gratify her perpetual hollowness. And then the fantasy shatters, and she's undulating, legs closing in on each other but Eren pulls them apart, moaning in synchronicity with her so she can't recognise his or her own voice.

It's good, even as she calms down— shit, her back hurts.

Annie hears the low rumble of his laughter and subsequently breaks from her daze.

'What's funny?' she hisses, . He lets up, sits on his heels.

'Nothing. I just... You're cute,' her cheeks flush at that, and he laughs again— this time, she sees his eyes when he does so; bright, yet devoid of malevolence's glow, 'I'm happy around you.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

Apparently, today is her mother's birthday. They've never talked about it before, nor has Mr. Leonhart shared prior knowledge of Annie's biological parents prior to now, so it's astonishing when her father declares that the date is special.

'In case you were wondering,' he explains.

She shakes her head.

Mr. Leonhart takes a long drag, blows rings of smoke above his daughter's head, 'The doctor I took you from said that before she knew you were Eldian, your mother was so excited about you... going on and on about how she was gonna have six grandkids, that_ you'd_ have three husbands. She was stuck in an unhappy marriage, which is probably why she went off to fool around with your real father,' he wheezes— is he trying to laugh? 'Maybe she wanted to live vicariously through you.'

Annie shifts in her seat.

_Real father?_

The topic dies after that, and she decides that she won't see Eren again.

She really doesn't, not for weeks.

Her period comes. Hormones must be getting the better of her because for the duration of her discomfort, she longs for the suicidal bastard who's not so suicidal anymore, maybe. It's terrible at night, when her father's asleep in the other room and she could easily sneak off._ I love my Dad_, she chants in her head, keeping her committed but doing nothing for the pain.

There comes a point when she feels like she just might die if she won't see Eren. Mr. Leonhart disappears for the evening, and she caves.

It's ridiculous how excited she is, a weightlessness in her chest propelling her forward all the way to Eren's building. She practically flies up the staircase to the second floor, heart beating thunderously in her eardrums.

She knocks.

No response.

She frowns, tries again. Still nothing.

Annie wiggles the knob. It turns, and she enters.

At the sight in front of her, she covers her mouth, gags.

Eren's on the floor, digging a large kitchen knife into his left leg, just below his knee. A growing puddle of red beneath him, bone starting to show from a large, open gash. Fuck, fuck, fuck, copper climbs up her nostrils, is that what he smells like inside?

Annie locks the door behind her, stumbles over to him, catches his wrists too feebly to be threatening or of any help in this situation (where has her strength gone?) and only then does he register her. He's breathing heavily through blurring vision, promises himself that when he comes to, he'll cut her cheek open.

He growls through the cloth wedged between his teeth, pushes her away with an arm he yanks from the handle of his blade. Annie is sent toppling backwards onto the wooden floor, somehow managing to avoid the fresh blood percolating into its fine lines. She watches on in horror as Eren sinks the blade deeper into bone, _cracks_ and _snaps_ rebounding off the walls and ending in his muffled cries.

She's saying something, but he can't make out her words, thinks s_hut your whore mouth and stick to what you're good for_—

_Crrraaaccck!_

Finally! Left leg severed, lops off, thought the agony would never end.

Still hurts like a mother, eyes rolls back into his skull and he sighs, relieved, back against his bed.

His sweat tastes like blood. That's new.

* * *

**Hi guys, thanks so much for continuing to support this story! I hope you've all had a wonderful holiday season, and that everyone enjoys this year.**

**Initially, I wanted to end this story here. But going over this chapter, the whole thing feels incomplete. I don't know what I'll be writing from here on out, but I hope that it'll still be enjoyable! Thanks again for reading, and supporting this in any way.**

**To those I can't respond to privately, I do so below:**

**paramyth, Annie's dad probably won't be finding out about Eren but honestly I haven't planned this story out past this point. So anything is possible! Thank you so much for your kind support, and for letting me know about the cosplayer. I appreciate all of it, thanks lots again!**

**vigigraz, thank you so much for your kindness. I'm so glad you like the dynamic between Annie and her father!**


	10. An Equilibrium

Eren has about three months, _max_, to make his move.

Marley's struggle against the Middle East will come to a close by no later than then— that was what Zeke promised, and he's a man of his word if only to his half-brother. No matter which nation triumphs over the peninsula, Marleyan warships shall surely return with a few hundred wounded soldiers. It's decided that Eren will use this opportunity to slip into disguise, so that he and Zeke may meet openly at the veteran hospital whilst avoiding contact with the Paradisians currently searching for Eren's whereabouts.

He just wants to lay low for now. Just wants to be left alone to his (and Krueger and Dad's) thoughts.

Inheriting his father's memories birthed a hateful sentimentality towards the world, which presented itself as heartbreak upon stepping foot into enemy territory. The scene that greeted him was beautiful: cobblestone roads, sweetness wafting in the air (baked goods and slow cooked pork), and people— so, so many people (some with unusual features) smiling and _laughing_. But if they knew where he had come from, the ensuing vitriol would burn through their teeth.

_Sanctimonious monsters._

Eren concludes that there is absolutely no way he can push through his mission without his family. Begrudgingly, he returns to the ship. One of the officers on board informs him that Annie Leonhart had already left. He's oddly elated. Like he had kept his promise to her: freedom, far away from him.

His return to Paradis is met with scrutiny.

'Do you know what you've done?' Captain Levi is calm when he asks.

Unperturbed, Eren nods.

No punishment awaits him. But his recklessness sparks urgency. Armin takes the opportunity to sell his half-hearted spiel about how Annie could sell them out, how she's probably reporting to the Marley military this very instant, and how it is precisely because of this possibility that they must all depart for Marley to make their intentions clear before a pre-emptive strike is taken against Paradis.

Mikasa wants to ask Eren why he let Annie go. She doesn't though. Just meets his eyes and swallows, and Eren wishes Mikasa wouldn't break his heart like this.

Later, Armin catches Eren in his room, 'Why'd you help Annie escape... _again_?'

'I don't know.'

Armin lowers his tone, a (failed) attempt at sincerity, 'Could it be... that you have feelings for her?'

Eren bites, 'Don't you?'

* * *

**...**

* * *

It turns out, family doesn't help.

Not really, when it's the entire world against you.

Not really, when your family is too weak to understand you.

* * *

**...**

* * *

_We're all going to die if I leave it up to them_, Eren thinks, and it is this same fear for survival that gives him the courage to leave Mikasa, Armin, and the others to fulfil his destiny.

731 Algate Road: _Thank you, Zeke._

He must have known that Eren would inevitably come to this point.

Still, loneliness is debilitating. When Eren's surrounded by innate hate, when he realises that most of his life he's known love, and Annie is gracious enough to give him doses of it in her unique brand of blood. Feels like fate when he finds her crying by the marketplace, feels like hope when she knocks on his door and sleeps on his bed, until finally, it's her poison in his veins when she lets him taste her for the first time.

She won't give it all up for him anymore, though. He doesn't mind, as long as he can hold her every now and again.

Doesn't feel like his heart is a part of him anymore; like Annie's ripped it out of him, become a part of him herself, leaving an emptiness whenever she isn't by his side. It disturbs Eren to recognise how attached he is to her. So the fact that they'll never be together, that he'll destroy her and all that she holds dear, that she's going to _die_, scares him.

He should tell her, right? Before it all goes to shit, shouldn't he tell her that he loves her?

Or is there any other way to...?

But without warning, she disappears; stops visiting him altogether. Not surprising; she has a tendency to leave after getting what she wants.

Eren finds solace in the assumption that he's at least her favourite toy.

It hurts for a long, long while— till it doesn't.

It's impossible to hate her.

* * *

**...**

* * *

When Eren comes to, he aches all over. The pain isn't too bad, he's had worse; regardless, it's annoyingly dull, uncomfortable enough to rouse him but not so much as to render him unconscious. He's damp with sweat, beads of it rolling from his forehead down to the sides of his face. The menial task of staring at the ceiling is arduous when the room's spinning. Though he's on his bed, vertigo makes him weightless, unstable.

_Get a grip_, he chuckles humourlessly to himself. He shuts his eyes, waits a minute because he believes all he needs is time to adjust to his new body. Ten minutes pass, and it becomes clear that he's not going to get his full strength back anytime soon. He palms the mattress, seeking purchase. Room's still spinning, why won't it stop? Now he feels sick to his stomach.

Groaning, he rolls over to his side.

He sees Annie, seated at his bedside. Her eyes are red and swollen. Has she been crying?

Eren exhales shakily, 'You OK?'

Annie nods.

'You sure?'

She leans forward, tracing her fingertips over his jawline. His breathing is shallow, 'Yes, Eren. I'm fine,' she answers but does not retract her touch.

Eren notes the faint copper lingering on her skin. He surveys the room with special attention to the floor; no trace of his grotesque mutilation. Annie must have seen to that. While he's grateful, he also feels sorry that she was compelled to clean up after him— and now, to care for him? He's confident that she doesn't have it in her. He'd prefer it if she'd leave immediately, 'You can go,' he says, and Annie looks confused until he continues, 'You've got no business here. Leave.'

Annie shakes her head, 'Why haven't you healed yourself yet?'

He offers no response.

'Answer me,' she stops stroking him; her fingers tremble atop his cheek, 'Why aren't you regenerating your leg?'

His lips form a tight line. He won't speak on it, apparently.

'Why would you do this to yourself?' Annie chokes, and she doesn't even care anymore if he has nothing to say, 'What if I didn't show up when I did? You could've bled to death.'

He smiles, 'I reckon that'd be great for you, hm? You get to live with your father in peace, and I...' he clears his throat, it's unbearably dry, 'Would be out of your way.'

'You think I want you gone?'

'Don't you?'

'_No_,' her tone climbs, shrill, 'I want you to _live_.'

Eren feels a part of him— the one that's hollow without her, that place where his heart's supposed to be— burn pleasantly with a broken promise, buried beneath a pain he will never truly comprehend. It's not his leg. Or his head, or his shoulders creaking from the insurmountable guilt.

It's Annie; the bittersweetness of her.

As if sensing that she's struck him somewhere uncomfortable, Annie lowers herself to press her forehead against his. They don't kiss, but it's close enough to hurt. He takes the bait, loops an arm around to massage her shoulder blades, pulls her closer to him. Her hands come up to push against his chest. She's not giving in, but he's beyond understanding.

'You just left me, by myself, for weeks. I needed you.'

'I'm sorry,' she means it.

Eren releases her, rolls on his back. Searing heat shoots from his abdomen to his stump, and he swears that he can feel the snapping of bones that he no longer possesses. Takes all he has not to cry out, but he absolutely won't, not in front of Annie— she'll zero in on his weakness and tear him apart, like some feral cat. Probably isn't even hungry, just wants to see him suffer.

'You have to leave.'

Annie's brows furrow as tears pool in her eyes. She successfully keeps them from falling, but the emotion taints her voice, 'Please don't make me go.'

'I don't have to. You'll leave, you always leave— this time, I was hoping that you'd do so on my own terms.'

Annie cries, silently. He shuts his eyes and turns his head away. Strangely, he's thankful that in this moment, his body is uncooperative. For if he were totally in control of himself, he would have given in to the reckless part of him (dwindling as it may be, a powerful component of his humanity). If he could have his way, he'd embrace her, tell her not to cry, convince her to go to bed with him— and he'd wake up to who he wants: an Annie with life in her eyes, and though she'll never admit it, the fire he's ignited in her is proof enough that she cares for him.

She tries for his hand. He moves it away.

'Please, Eren. It hurts.'

That doesn't matter, and he tells her so.

Annie asks if he hates her.

He doesn't respond.

A minute passes, then he's alone once more.

Exhaustion creeps in, mercifully pulling him away from consciousness. But he doesn't rest, periodically waking in a fright, palpitations having him panting for breaths he cannot fully take. He'll try to sit up, but he's never felt so dizzy in his life. The pain has him writhing in his sweat-soaked sheets until he passes out again. Eventually, his body calms, and the betrayal subsides. When he awakens in the morning, he's no longer in agony— just tired and thirsty.

Slowly, he pushes off with his arms, eyes screwed shut reflexively from the sensation that his spine is about to disconnect from the rest of him. He gets halfway through when he's tempted to collapse, but a set of hands press behind him to help him forwards. Shocked, his eyes fly open, and he sits up far too quickly. Consequently, his head pounds, but he's too distracted by his visitor to have the sense to lay back down.

'I'm sorry,' Annie's voice is small, 'I don't want to go.'

He grazes her cheek with the back of his hand. Annie visibly relaxes, sighing into his wrist. His gut flutters; familiar, warm.

It isn't fair.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Past noon, Annie declares that she has to return home to her father.

'I'll come back in the evening,' she promises.

Eren nods. He chooses to believe in her.

He's somewhat relieved when she leaves. Now, he's not so self-conscious about needing to go to the bathroom. He hops off the bed on one leg, chuckles to himself as he perfects his balance. There's a crutch leaning against his bed frame; an aid he sought prior to his dismemberment. _Have to be prepared_, he sings in his head, finding humour in the freak he's made himself to be.

Maybe Annie's into men without... parts.

First things first: he downs an unreasonable amount of absinthe. His throat burns, but the nearly instantaneous buzz relieving his symptoms is encouragement to take in more than what he knows he can handle. Estimating that he has a good ten minutes before he either passes out or throws up, he uses the toilet and takes a quick paper bath. Paper, because he doesn't have a sponge, and the napkins meant to wipe his ass should do a fine job on the rest of him. By the time his joints wobble, he's back on his bed, lulling to sleep.

Eren wakes up in the late afternoon, when orange and purple converge in the sky. The whole of him throbs, tormented, so he takes a few more swigs of alcohol.

He realises that he hasn't eaten anything all day. There's day-old bread in the cupboard, so he has that.

True to her word, Annie returns after sundown. She offers him some pills, 'Pain medicine. My Dad takes them sometimes.'

They help a lot. He barely feels any discomfort after taking two.

'Did you eat?'

'Yeah. Had some bread.'

Annie scowls.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Eren blinks awake in the wee hours of the morning. The world is still tinted pale blue, and the air is frigid. It takes him a while to regain his senses; he's groggy, which is most likely a side effect of the medicine. Still, he has one singular thought: Annie. Has she slept at all? She refused to share the bed with him.

He turns to bedside, expecting Annie to be in her chair. She's not— rather, she's putting on her shoes. His movement alerts her, however, and she flashes him a small smile. He melts; she's so beautiful, why is she here?

'I have to go,' Annie approaches, plants a kiss on his forehead, 'I'll be back later. Do you want me to bring you anything?'

'No. Just be sure to come back.'

Icy blues widen, but she doesn't say anything.

Eren reaches for her, and she takes his hand, which he presses to his lips. His kiss lingers on her skin longer than what is appropriate for such a chaste gesture; he doesn't care, wants to imprint her scent, her texture, her softness to the back of his mind so that they'll never, ever be apart. To think he used to be so afraid of what they could be, only for him to welcome the fault in who they really are.

She reluctantly shakes him off.

Eren watches her go.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Annie comes by in the evening with gifts; smoked fish and sweet potatoes, which she said she cooked for her father earlier. What she gives to Eren are her leftovers, and suddenly, he's reminded of her weight loss. When she turns her back to him to plate the food, he surveys her body— no, not an inch gained since the last time he examined her closely weeks ago. Although, it's frustrating to try and note any changes, considering her loose attire.

'Take off your shirt.'

She stiffens, then glances at him over her shoulder, 'Pardon?'

'Ha... Not what you think. I can't be a good lover, not like this,' he motions up and down his form. Annie blushes, and he reflexively smirks, 'Don't tell me... You've been thinking about it?'

Annie returns to her chore; she's still blushing, flushed all the way to her nape.

His next dose is on the countertop. He stands, one arm on a crutch, and takes the pills. Annie watches as he swallows them dry; he catches her gaze, boldly reaching for the depression of her spine. His hands hover, eyes on her, unafraid. A beat passes, and he curls his fingers underneath the hem of her hoodie, gritting his teeth as he palms the warmth of her skin. She forgets the food.

His hand slides higher till he glosses over the prominent ridges of her ribs, 'You've lost more weight.'

'Does that mean you won't fuck me?'

Eren quirks a brow, 'You mean, inside you?'

'That's what fucking is, yeah.'

'Well... You haven't wanted to go all the way for a while now. You sure?'

Annie huffs, appears to deliberate. She isn't quick to make her choice, 'Yes. Yes, I want to.'

'Hm... I have_ one leg_, Annie.'

'Then take something of mine. Even out the playing field.'

He withdraws, mulling over her proposal carefully: she's always been challenging to read, which is a great source of frustration for him— does she recognise the gravity of what she's said?

'Take off your clothes and get on the bed,' he speaks softly; she complies.

He asks her why she's doing this to herself.

'Penance,' she murmurs, and Eren does not delve further.

He decides to use his belt to tie her wrists together at her back. Annie doesn't protest. If she's scared, she doesn't show it. Against his better perception of her, he wonders if maybe it's the opposite: that she enjoys this, that she's being truthful when she moans, struggling with her bonds when he tends to her breasts, nipping and sucking the way he remembers she likes it. She's quieter than usual, which bothers him. Tentative, he pulls away to look at her.

'It doesn't matter what you've done... I'll never—' Eren can't find the words, settles for, 'It just doesn't matter, alright?'

Annie averts her gaze, but slumps forward; he's warm.

'Annie...?'

'I don't want you to hate me.'

'I won't. Not ever.'

Her lashes flutter. She bites her lip and shifts her legs apart.

_Sick whore_, a voice resounds at the back of his head; whose, he can't tell. But he won't have it, burying any resentment he feels so far inside of him that he nearly convinces himself that he's never been upset with her, that she may very well be his wife and this is just a rendition of their wedding night.

'You're going to ride me,' it's not a threat; Annie shudders nonetheless.

He lifts her to his lap so they're back to chest. She winces, the weight of him unforgiving when pressed against her pinned limbs. He thrusts upwards. A strangled noise escapes her, though her distress does not deter his advances. He doesn't buy it, not really, not when the fabric around his groin is damp— she trusts him, he's certain.

At his command, she's on her knees, positioned over his thighs. Without the use of her arms, she's a little unsteady on the mattress, which creaks from the slightest of movements. Eren's zipper is louder. One hand nestled on her pelvis, the other guiding his dick along the slickness of her.

His voice is shaky, 'Shit.'

Annie hisses, but does not comment.

She arches, only for him to tug her down by the belt constricting her hands together, low enough for him to sink deep into her. She takes him with newfound ease (there's no pain whatsoever, and she rocks of her own accord) and writhes, aching for closeness, which he's gracious enough to give; a steady rhythm in and out of her, arms wrap around her ribcage. She's so small in comparison, he completely envelopes her and then some.

She feels weak to hold; like she could break at any moment.

But she's never felt so safe, regrets not offering her legs too— he smells and feels like fire inside of her, it's intoxicating. His tip meets her end, and she rasps over his name: _Eren, Eren, Eren_, he tastes like sugar in her mouth till he grabs her face, kisses her wantonly, and suddenly, he's venom. Control is lost, vision goes white-hot, muscles winding tighter, tighter, tighter still, and then she's gasping, rolling her hips to prolong the pleasure.

Eren isn't finished. He changes his angle, grabs onto her disheveled bun so hard that it comes undone. That smarts; she cries out, and yet, he's unrelenting— why should he stop, when she's begging? His nails dig into her skin as he spills, burying his face in her hair to muffle any byproduct of ecstasy that escapes him.

Annie's still squirming.

When he calms, he pulls out, earning a whine from his lover. He turns her so that she's straddling him face-to-face. He kisses her tender, passionate, like he's always wanted to. She's trembling. Is she scared of him?

Ah, her arms.

He reaches round to untie her. It's more difficult a task than he anticipated; Annie's concerning him, her forehead pressed against his shoulder, hair sticking to her face. She's panting. He gives her a kiss on her cheek as reassurance, and successfully undoes the belt, which he throws haphazardly onto the floor to join her clothes. Annie finds purchase on his biceps— she feels weak, so he pulls her up to him by the waist. And she leans against him, sobbing without tears, holding him tightly enough that he wants to remind her that he's not going anywhere.

'I love you, Eren.'

His heart twists. He manages to run his fingers through her hair.

A long while passes before Eren speaks, 'You need to eat. Do you understand?'

Annie nods.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone continuing to support this story! **

**This was a really challenging chapter for me to write because I wanted Eren and Annie's relationship to feel claustrophobic, but progress into comfort. I wonder if that even makes sense? I hope to hear your thoughts on this.**

**If I can't respond to you privately, I do so below:**

**paramyth, thank you so much for your kind support! Your encouragement means so much to me, and I'm so appreciative of you! Regarding Eren's internal outbursts of_ whore_ towards Annie, he never actually calls her that to her face. Considering that he's inherited the memories of the Attack Titan's predecessors, I leave those bits up to interpretation for now. I am definitely considering a happy ending to this story. And thank you so much for your question: I haven't picked up a book in years, but I love listening to people's stories. I'm a big believer in learning through ****compassion. But watching shows helps me a lot, too! I recommend_ Sex Education_ (it's on _Netflix_) and _American Horror Story_. They both deal with heavyweight topics, but one is humorous and the other is dark.**


	11. Goodbye

Eren thinks he's lost more of his body than just his left leg.

Besides a mild headache that comes and goes, he no longer feels much else. The pills account for his physical pain, and he doesn't quite know what exactly his dulled his thoughts. His mind has wandered; it's elsewhere, between reality and dreams, and though he still has one eye on his mission, he no longer wishes to die.

He recalls last night's end in frightening clarity: Annie, bound by her arms with her back to him as he moves inside of her. Then, facing him, trembling until her bonds are undone at his convenience. Total submission: does that genuinely get her off? She told him she loved him, too.

What was the point of that exercise?

Annie shifts in her sleep.

The sunlight seeping in through the blinds is painfully bright; must be past noon. She better wake up soon... Not that it would matter at this point anyway because surely, her father has noticed by now that she isn't at home. Would he even care, though? Eren can deduce from the bits and pieces Annie drops every so often that she does not have a loving relationship with the man she despondently refers to as _Dad._

Eren knows that this is all none of his business.

'Hey, get up. My arm's falling asleep.'

Annie tilts her head to look at him. Her eyes are dark with unfinished dreams. 'Hmph. Not much of a gentleman, are you?' she drawls.

'Sorry.'

'You aren't.' Like an irate cat, she wriggles free from his grasp. He's reluctant to let her go, but abides because he can't recall the last time he took her form in. He forgot how freakishly white she is in the daylight. She yawns, one arm covering her mouth while the other stretches above her head. Torso elongated, her ribs jut out, skin sinking in the vacuum below her chest.

_Just eat damn it, just fucking **eat**..._

'Hange said your medical exams were great.' Eren starts (like an _idiot_, is what she thinks), 'That you're not sick or anything.'

'Oh.'

'So...'

But rather than provide an explanation for her deteriorating weight, Annie (predictably) rebuffs his advances by pretending that the conversation isn't happening at all. She jumps off the bed and picks her clothes up from the floor.

'Stay for breakfast, at least.'

'No thanks. My dad'll wake up soon.'

Annie bends down to help her feet into her pants. She peers up at Eren through her bangs. He rolls over to his side and props himself up on an elbow, trembling ever so slightly. He manages a tight smile. Despite his fading strength, he has the arrogance to scoff at her, 'It's noon, Annie.'

Her face falls. Eren laughs because it's a cute expression on her.

'Why didn't you wake me sooner?'

He shrugs, 'You looked peaceful.'

'So what?! How am I going to explain myself now?! I _smell_ like you—'

'Take a shower, then.'

Annie grits her teeth. 'Because that'll fix everything, right, Eren?' she gathers her hair into a bun, her movements sharp and surprisingly threatening, 'It's not like I have to account for my absence or explain where the fuck I've been,' grinds her heel against the creaking flooring of his shabby apartment, rubs the back of her neck. Her blush pales, and rather than flustered, she appears terrified. 'Shit. What am I going to tell him?'

Eren does not offer his thoughts. He forces himself to sit upright. The ensuing vertigo knocks the wind out of him, like he's been dunked into an ice box, but he wills his eyes to glue onto his lover lest she disappear without a trace (like she always does, like a_ whore_).

She isn't fond of the look he gives her, 'What?'

'Nothing.' he gets up, leans against the wall to steady himself, 'You'll find a way. It'll be OK.'

'No, it won't. I can't get out of this one.'

Eren opens his mouth to speak, only to snap his teeth together. He averts his gaze from her, disappearing into the fog that washes over his features for only a moment— when he resurfaces, he threatens to crush, 'On your way, then. You're wasting time here.'

Feels like she's been punched, so she hangs her head low as she works with her belt. Behind the curtain of her bangs, she finds some comforting solitude; her bottom lip quivers with an emotion she can't define. Still, it hangs heavy on her chest, like a sentence on her conscience. She's hurt him so much. And Dad, too, by fooling around like this with an enemy soldier.

Annie wonders if she's ever brought any happiness to the people she's cared for.

'Looks good.' Eren declares, generous, preparing a plate of the sweet potatoes she brought him yesterday. He brings it with him, hobbling to the table. He's still getting used to using a crutch. She watches him, and he's kind (?) enough to throw her a smile dripping with tempered disappointment. 'Thank you, Annie. Please have a nice meal when you get home.'

'I'll be back,' she says, surprising them both with the tremor in her voice, 'I promise.'

Eren smiles, and Annie leaves before he can hurt her.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Eren gauges that he has a good eight hours before a dull pain sets in.

Then, another hour (or an hour and a half, if lucky) until a searing itch.

It's probably a good idea to head over to the market for food and medicine.

He does just that, and is disappointed that there are no drugs available for purchase, only essential oils and ginger root. The vendor claims that they're natural painkillers. Eren crinkles his nose; it's clearly bullshit, but it's better than nothing. Be it his grim expression or bad leg, his appearance sparks sympathy from the vendor. The elderly lady offers to throw in some willow bark if he'll buy two bottles of the lavender oil. Eren agrees.

He hadn't expected it to be so challenging to have one arm on his crutch, and the other holding onto his satchel. The uneven distribution of weight renders him clumsy; he must've bumped into three people in less than ten minutes and still, no one says anything— probably because he lost his limb in servitude to Marley, hm? He laughs to himself.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of freshly hacked beef. He can hear the sound of a butcher chopping somewhere hidden at the back, and there are a couple of young men arranging various cuts by the front. Eren's mouth waters— when was the last time he had good meat? Nothing as good as the ones in the stew Mom used to make... Mikasa knows the recipe by heart, but he reckons he can make a good enough rendition of it without her help.

One of the workers notices Eren staring. 'I'll give you a good price!' he offers, glancing at the bum leg.

Eren asks how much for two kilos of bison. Tries to renegotiate for a lower price, but is declined. He agrees to the original deal anyway.

Afterwards, he buys vegetables, potatoes, oil, and spices. It's too much money he's spent today, but the excitement alone at the prospect of having that stew tonight makes it well worth the splurge.

Eren wonders if Annie will like it. Maybe not, since it's a little on the gamey side, and she does have a sweet tooth... Then again, so does he, and he appreciates—

_Stop. She's probably not coming back._

And really, he shouldn't want her to. It's not like he needs her anyway.

Annie Leonhart is not a necessity, only a desire.

Eren goes home and prepares the stew. He has to cut the ingredients up on the table rather than the kitchen counter so that he can sit down comfortably. This doesn't take long, and is actually quite comforting, sort of like makeshift meditation. Either that, or the pills are stronger than he thought.

The lengthy portion of this process is boiling the pot for two hours. Done in less time and the meat will be chewy. _Got to aim for tender,_ Mom used to say, because it was the way_ he_ liked it. She was always so considerate. Eren doubts he'll ever be loved like that again.

It's getting dark already. His stump is starting to burn; a genuine, scorching, _burn_. Eren realises he's sweating only when he has to wipe his brow. The willow bark helps a little in the sense that he feels less present in reality. The pain, however dulled, travels up his thigh, pulls on his chest. Like he fell into the simmering pot himself. He should go lay down.

Before that, he samples the broth; a bit too sweet.

* * *

**...**

* * *

When he comes to, a familiar softness strokes his cheek. He blinks awake and is surprised to see Annie by his side, a glass of water on hand. Her eyes are hard, but he abstains from commenting lest she turn on her heel again.

'Medicine,' she deadpans, and presents them to him on her palm. He takes them and swallows dry. Annie offers him the water anyway, although he declines yet again. She sets the glass down on the floor. 'When was the last time you showered?'

He shrugs.

'Seriously?'

'I keep myself clean,' he sneers, then sits up so he can level with her. 'What did you eat today?'

'Forgot. I did eat, though.'

'Still a shitty liar, huh?' she averts her gaze, so he reaches for her hand. Her attention snaps back to him, eyes wide and defensive as if he was coming at her with a knife. Reflexively, Eren bows his head ever so slightly; an attempt to assuage her fear. He curls his fingers over her fist, 'I made stew. It's got meat in it.'

'Hm.'

'It's good, I think. I mean, my mom's version is, but—'

'Yeah, it—' Annie falters, affected by the mention of his mother, 'It smells amazing.'

'Go have some, then.'

'That's alright. I'm not hungry,' she shakes free of his grip. An awkward silence ensues. Eren observes her, wordless, unsure of where they stand. She's merciful enough to break first, making her way to him unthreateningly. He grunts when she straddles him so they're face-to-face. Her diminutive size and compromising position fail to take away from her imposing presence. She palms his shoulders, and he shudders at the warning behind her strength, 'Actually, I'm in a mood.'

She pulls back, raises her hoodie up and over her head. Her hair is moussed, but she doesn't bother to fix it; she's more concerned with getting undressed.

Eren bares teeth, 'Thought I needed a shower.'

'Mmhmm... But it's not that bad, yet,' and she starts to unbutton his shirt. Eren shifts in his seat, uncomfortable; there's something about the urgency in her moves, the spineless advances, that have him backing into the headboard. He tries for tenderness as he cups her cheek, but her skin is as unwelcoming as the cold kisses she leaves along the column of his stomach, 'I'm fine,' she whispers, unconvincing. She tilts her head away from his hand, looks up at him without fire, 'Are you ready?'

He cards his fingers through her hair, hoping for a reaction; she jerks away.

It's a long beat he spends staring at her, but Annie makes no move to close this newfound distance between them. Her eyes are tired, more so than usual, and vacant.

_The face of someone who has nothing of joy to dream about, _he thinks, amused.

Eren's lashes flutter, and his nails digs into his bum thigh; _hold on, just hold on_—

'How'd it go with your father?'

Annie shakes her head. Her eyes water, and Eren remembers that she's faithful to her secrets. He cups her face again, this time with both hands, earning a deep etch on her brows. He bends down, kisses her chaste on the lips, and she takes his wrists to drag them to her breasts. 'Touch me,' she says, and it's his turn to tear away from her; but her pupils are blown out and her lips are parted in a silent scream that somehow rings deafeningly in his eardrums.

His breathing is heavy. But she's expectant, so he swallows the lump in his throat: _get on with it_.

He undoes his belt, throws it haphazardly onto the floor. Annie picks it up, hands it back to him.

She tells him to strike her with it.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Annie gets up before the sun does.

She won't look at him while she's putting on her clothes. Eren gazes upon the unmarred canvas of her back, his fingers subconsciously traveling to his bad leg to knead where the pain radiates; it hurts more than his heart to think about her nowadays. Who is she, even? The woman he fell for all those years ago was self-assured; this one yearns for him to fill a bleeding hole in her heart. It's not a task he's equipped for.

She should be _nobody_ to him.

But he pines after her regardless. He's not whole without her.

'Won't you stay for breakfast this time?'

'Dad will be up soon,' Annie reasons, voice shaky and hoarse, 'And I don't want to bother you.'

'Never,' he's soft, and kind, and it has Annie trembling where she stands, 'Please stay. I made you food last night.'

She complies only because he's pathetic when he hobbles with his crutch. Still, she takes great care not to meet his eyes as they eat. Her chest aches every time he tends to needs she does not voice; pouring her a glass of water, scooping seconds into her bowl, reaching for her frigid hand— 'You don't have to,' she bites, and the temptation of tears intensifies when he throws her a genuinely confused expression.

Annie makes no promise to return. But she gives Eren a kiss goodbye, and he murmurs into her ear, 'See you later.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

They have the rest of the stew for dinner. Annie arrives much earlier than usual. She's troubled, if her stiff posture is anything to go by. Eren tries to make conversation with her as they eat, but all he succeeds in doing is earning a few hard glares. At least she still hands him his next dose— she can't be that mad. Or maybe he's overestimated her predilection to cruelty (unlikely).

'So you told your father about me?'

Annie glances back at him over her shoulder, then returns to the dishes. He waits a while for an answer, but the only sounds he hears are the soft clinking of the plates as she hangs them on the rack.

His gut coils. Has he made a grave mistake?

'What did you tell him, Annie?'

'Relax,' she wipes her hands on a clean towel, turns round to walk towards him. He braces himself on his chair, for some reason anticipating she's going to clobber him. This does not happen. Annie settles her legs on either side of his hips in very much the same manner she did the night before. Her eyes are hard today, guarded, shifting from indignity to barely contained frustration. Eren finds it hard to breathe until she reveals, 'He doesn't know anything.'

'...Mm,' he slips a hand beneath her shirt, perhaps to reward her flimsy sense of loyalty. His touch does nothing for her in this moment. Annie goes through the motions, undressing herself and then stripping him of his shirt. This all feels robotic; Annie refuses to give, and he won't take charge because to do so is precisely what she wants— he's not going to play into her games.

Infuriated with his lacklustre participation, Annie leans backwards. It's his instinct to grab onto her waist so that she does not fall off. She undulates beneath his palms, shivering from his belittling gaze, and whispers, 'Don't you like me anymore?'

'I do.'

Annie tilts her head, quizzical. He's unreadable. Which is annoying, because the idea that he won't open up to her is maddening in its betrayal.

Although, she doesn't think he's_ lying_...

Tentative, she presses her lips to the dip of his collarbone. He relaxes into her affection, fisting both hands in her hair. Deliberately, he pulls on her bun, and her locks come undone. He tugs lightly just so he can admire what she looks like disheveled, and the sight affects him more than her nakedness. She won't have it, ducks down to lick up his neck; she can't face him, not right now.

'Ha... Thought you were pissed at me. Y'know, for not going along with your—,' he thrusts up, sighs in unison with her; her teeth are hot on his throat when she does _that_, '— fucked up notions of love.'

Annie's posture straightens. She pulls away sharply, eyes wide and accusing.

She's certain he's fishing for a violent reaction, so she does her damnedest to give none. But he's already seen it; that snap of vulnerability shrouded in the pretty clouding of her eyes.

'What are you talking about?'

He rubs up and down her back, slow and firm, 'Hm? You told me to whip you yesterday, remember?'

She shifts uncomfortably in his lap. True, she made that request; however, since he had not committed to the act, what was his_ problem_ bringing it up now?

She hisses, 'I _do_ love you.'

'But you want me to love you the only way _you_ can. It's why you're so bad at sex.'

That smarts; Annie reaches around to yank him back by his hair— he does not break eye contact. 'Say that again?'

'You heard me. You_ suck_ at sex.'

She grimaces, and the ensuing laughter emanating from her is low, dripping with vitriol.

Eren continues, 'You don't think of yourself as my equal. And you can't trust me to care for you— it's why you need the belt.' she stiffens, and Eren's gaze flickers with the fire of the hunt, 'You think that if you perform like a good girl, I'll_ have_ to love you. That if you're mine, it'll be enough, and you'll finally have—'

'Fuck you.'

He pulls her flush against him, earning an uncharacteristic yelp. Undeterred, he admits, 'It's my fault too. You're just a reflection of what you've known. I should've been better to you, should've been gentler the first time—'

'Fuck. _You_, Eren,' Annie raises a hand to his chin as though to command him to _stop_. Then she tries, in vain, to stand. He grabs both her wrists, pulling her to him, and her resistance renders her clumsy; vigilant of this opening, Eren sweeps his foot across the floor to knock her by the ankles. It has her toppling and he, terrified that he'll inadvertently injure her, slides his torso down so he'll break her fall. The result is him landing flat on his ass, and her knee smashing into his bad thigh. He curses loudly, shoves her away. Concerned, Annie kneads around his leg. She asks if he's alright.

'I deserved that,' he mutters.

Annie smiles; strangely sweet. He melts, and responds by stroking her cheek with his fingertips; she hums, a second-long melody of an emotion he can't quite pinpoint in himself— but he has the sense to acknowledge that these feelings (whatever they are), are meant for him.

He kisses her forehead, whispers, 'Aren't you cold?' but he does not wait for an answer. He embraces her, tight and protective. Annie almost wants to remind him that no one's out to get them in this shabby apartment, yet the words do not leave her; she melts into his feverish skin, her vision hazy and fixated on his mouth. She feels his hand cup the slope of her neck, too gently, as if he just wants to feel the faint thumping of her pulse against his palm.

'Hey... You were the first woman I fell in love with.'

Her lashes flutter, 'I'm sure you've loved again.'

'Not the way I loved you.'

Annie feels like crying, but won't. Maybe it's because she permits herself to reach for someone she shouldn't, instead of turning her back on him completely (where has_ that_ gotten her?). She finds his lips and it's lightning in her veins, pyrotechnic blood beating from her heart. And she comes to the mortifying revelation that before this moment, she has never known what it felt like to be human.

Eren moans; she's quick to make her intentions clear, grinds against him. She feels a tremor on his hand, so she takes him by the wrist and guides him down, down to where it aches. His eyes fly to her, smoky with the shadows of his skeleton, 'Just this is enough for you?,' she asks.

_Of course you are,_ but when he strokes her, he's uncertain. She makes a noise that's between a giggle and a pant, and lets him in on the fact that she finds his hesitance endearing. 'Don't pretend to like it if you don't.'

She nods.

He dips a finger in, braces her to him with his free arm. He feels her go stiff, but she unwinds after a few thrusts from him. She writhes, and he's glad because he wants her to get off, but the act is too much for him; she's too vivid, too real, and the truth is that he wants to fuck her hard till she screams that she can't take it anymore.

It'll never happen— he thinks back to the time she asked him to strike her with his belt, and resolves that he won't set a bad precedent for her.

She mouths below his jawline. She doesn't do too much damage; his efforts render her movements sloppy. Still, she's a distraction, licking at his scalding flesh. He grunts, but focuses on his task. That is, until she palms his groan, and he jumps. His attention snaps to her— she's blushing, but points out that so is he. 'I'm_ inside_ you,' he says, as if that makes him any better than her.

'No you're not,' and she unzips him.

Annie pushes his wrist away so that he leaves her. She wastes no time— wait any longer, and the high is gone. She wants this, the brilliant lights that lay waste to her permafrost, to burn until there is nothing left. She takes him in, and the jagged glass of her broken heart may as well be moon-dust when it's he who holds her. She gasps, and he's kissing her cheeks.

Her eyes are closed, but she sees him clearly. She feels him cup her face with both hands, 'You are so, so beautiful.'

'You made me beautiful.'

'No, no— You've always been,' he embraces her tightly, for she's moving too fast and he doesn't want to finish too soon, 'Ever since—' his head hangs back, hands on her hips in a futile attempt to control the pace. He reminds himself that this is what she wants, as if the fact could eclipse his own treachery: he wishes he could live without her again.

Annie catches him by surprise, bucking once, twice, before the whole of her trembles. He faces her, and their eyes are bright on each other— one hand planted firm down her backside, the other helping prolong what can't be stopped; he moans with her. Her rhythm loses momentum. To compensate, she leans up so she can kiss his open mouth, tasting sweat and blood, perhaps he bit his lip. Eren tilts his head away, overstimulated, and she kisses down his neck, past his chest and pelvis, then she's on her knees.

He has the gall to say, 'I'm worried about you.'

She tugs his pants lower, which is all too easy when he isn't wearing a belt. He takes one hand in his, intertwines his fingers with hers. They lock eyes, and she takes him in her mouth.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone continuing to support this story! I'm so sorry this took a while to publish. It was challenging for me to tie the themes of this chapter with those from the earlier instalments. The last segment also had me struggling! I wanted to write it in such a way that contrasted previous descriptions of sexual themes in this story.**

**Although I've replied privately to those wondering about the direction of this story, I do want to say to anyone concerned that I don't want this to come across as a _love conquers all_ type of thing. It's definitely not what I was going for, and I truly am sorry if that's how it's come across. This _is_ a romance story, but I started it with the intention of exploring toxic attachments and the limitations of a relationship without two people working on themselves as individuals. **

**If you have an account or I recognise you from the discord server, I've responded to you privately! Otherwise, I do so below:**

**paramyth, thank you for your kind support! I do understand your frustration with this couple opening up in this story. I did think about a few ways to go about this chapter's events and ultimately, I think that although these two fight, they can't stay angry at each other after everything they've been through in this story. I hope you you found this chapter satisfying!**


	12. Beastly

How could she let this happen?

Annie asks herself this over and over in her head, praying that _he_ can't hear her. The childish boy who only ever spoke about vengeance is now a man, a dangerous one; one who knows her inside out, who does not look past her veneer but instead rips it apart with his teeth. And at the end of it, she thanks him, because for all his brutality, he accepts her, _loves_ her.

She had always wanted to be seen as human. It had never crossed her mind that she could be more.

But _this_ is nearly too much— hunched over the toilet, a cold sweat blanketing her skin, the weightlessness the dread dawns on her; it's happening all over again.

So, once more, she asks herself: _why_ did she allow it to get this far?

It doesn't matter, it's not even alive, it won't feel a thing— but _she_ does, and it hurts. Forces her to think back to every night she and Eren spent wrapped up in each other with Annie wishing that she could melt with him so that they'll never be apart, never have to say. Because it doesn't matter how often she dances around alone in her mind, reminding herself that Eren is _lethal_ and that she's finally home; he gives her what she's always wanted and it makes her happy, for Annie is a bleeding heart made of glass.

When the retching subsides, Annie stands on wobbly legs, rinses her mouth, and catches her reflection in the mirror: she will never be more than what she sees. Her thirteen years are almost up.

Her deadline never bothered her until recently. Nowadays, she finds herself dreaming about realities beyond her reach. If she could, she'd smash her image and be reborn in the jagged pieces she'd leave in her wake, even if her new shape is riddled with imperfections and scars. It is better to be alive with the burden of a story, rather than dead and not have dared to love at all.

Still, now is not the time to dwell on what doesn't matter. She gets dressed and heads downstairs, where her father and a bowl of stew await at the dining table. Mr. Leonhart has already started eating. He gives no acknowledgements as his daughter greets him and takes her seat.

Annie's relationship with her father continues to deteriorate since she arrived late in the afternoon last week. He had been sitting in front of the doorway; dark bags under his eyes, vexation hot on his features._ Where have you been?_ he had said, but he didn't need an answer; clearly, she hadn't taken a shower.

Mr. Leonhart clears his throat, dabs his mouth with a napkin, and starts, 'What kind of man is he?'

'A regular guy. I met him at the market,' she pauses, gauging his reaction— his gaze is steady, piercing. But he motions for her to continue and, out of options, she divulges Eren's facade, 'He's a veteran.'

Mr. Leonhart frowns, 'How old?'

'He's young. But he lost his leg, so...'

'Does he have a wife?'

'No, Dad. He lives alone.'

'I see. And you said you met him at the market?'

'Yes, Dad.'

He takes the cigarette box out of his pocket, flips it open— and just keeps it there, loose in his hand. 'And you sleep together, surely. Cause you're sneaking around on me.'

Annie drops her gaze.

He shakes his head, 'Don't tell me it's love. You know nothing about that.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

She feels like shit, but she'll feel worse if she doesn't make it to Eren's apartment tonight.

For the very first time, Annie does not wait for her father to retire to his bedroom before she departs. He's having a smoke by the steps, doesn't so much as glance at her as she makes her way down. 'Bye, Dad,' she says— Mr. Leonhart's only response is to take a long drag from his cig, exhaling the grey clouds that mark the division between them that shall never converge.

Annie reminds herself: her father doesn't owe her anything.

When she arrives to her destination, Eren is observant as ever: 'What happened?' he asks, and Annie shrugs, shakes her head; her eyes are glued to an unremarkable spot on the floor. Eren approaches her, cups her nape, waiting for a reaction she never gives. It's enough, she thinks, to allow him this— no one else can touch her.

He ghosts his lips over her cheeks, the beginnings of a stubble scraping her skin as he moves along the unique mapping of her face. He kisses the the inner corner of her eye, right at the top of her nose. Annie blinks, squeaks at the close proximity, but he holds her still as he moves southward, over her lips, to the pulse on her throat. It's not unpleasant; just different, exciting in the same way if he were running the tip of a blade across her neck.

'Eren. Enough.'

He goes rigid for a second. As he pulls away and takes his seat, Annie catches a glimpse of disappointment etched onto a deep crease between his brows. He's growing into the maturing lines of his visage, but still radiates a cuteness that reminds her of who he used to be. It makes her smile. He notices, looks up at her, 'What?'

Annie cups his chin, thumbing over the rough patch of hair, 'You need to clean up.'

He groans, 'That hasn't been on my mind lately.'

'You should at least shower.'

'I do. I _did_,' he frowns, 'This morning, actually.'

'Did you, really?'

'Well... I wipe myself down by the sink. It's fine. I use soap.'

'Mm...' she traces lazy shapes along his jawline. He leans into her touch, hands palm the back of her thighs with a gentleness she finds ridiculous considering who they are to each other. And yet it's endearing, how he pleads for her affection with his bright eyes and hesitance. She's nervous when she asks, 'Do you want to take one together? A real shower, I mean.'

Eren's eyes widen, 'Huh?'

'Mm?'

'That's inappropriate,' he says before he can stop himself— then chuckles, adds, 'I won't be able to concentrate with you around, you know. It'd be stressful trying not to slip on one leg.'

Annie has a flash of clarity, 'You could regenerate right now. Then it wouldn't be a problem.'

Eren goes quiet. This doesn't frighten or alarm her.

* * *

**...**

* * *

The bed is small and meant for one, but Eren insists on laying together.

Annie guesses that in a way, he's trapping her in an invisible embrace; this close, she's forced to look at him, to feel the heat of him on her skin even when they don't touch. Try as she might to fight it, the sight of him alone ignites a need in her chest she cannot ignore, never to be put out and only to be fed by his chaste kisses and feather-light caresses. _Don't touch me_, she'll say and he obeys— if only to prove the mortifying fact that he doesn't have to lay a finger on her to make her bend.

That's what _she_ believes anyway. Eren thinks she's ludicrous.

'I won't try and change you.'

Annie hums, an ominous rumble of a tune in her throat; a prologue to her biting accusation, 'Thought you hated weak people.'

'What's that?'

She props herself up on her elbows while Eren remains on his back. She finds comfort with the negligible levelling she creates; she's higher than him only because he allows her to be, but at least it gets her to talk, 'I do what I'm told. I killed your friends because I was ordered to. Don't tell me you don't detest me for it.'

Eren doesn't avert his gaze from her. He reaches for her face. She flinches upon contact, but he hasn't hurt her; just strokes along the contour of her lips, drags the bottom down to reveal teeth. His eyes settle on her mouth and Annie's heartbeat drums rabbit-quick against her chest.

'Detest you, huh?' she shivers at the thought, but he clarifies, 'I don't.'

She surprises herself with the vitriol in her voice, 'Why don't you?'

'Because you're _not_ weak. Or damaged, or beastly—' Annie recoils and Eren draws her in by the waist before she can run, '— you're just like me, because we're both people. Across the ocean, Eldian or Marleyan or... whatever it is. I think I realise that no one's truly to blame. We're all acting out, against each other, doing what we think is right or what will bring us the least pain— _because_ we're all human.'

Annie relaxes in his arms. He tucks her head under his chin, rubs up and down her back firmly. And somehow, he soothes her; her lids are heavy, it's getting harder to stay awake— even on the brink of exhaustion, he catches her eye. The distinct, soft vein on his neck is a pulsating reminder that they've made it this far, and she comes to the conclusion that when the time comes, she doesn't want the chains or the fear or the audience: she wants to die by his hand, next to someone she loves.

She lets go only to meet his eyes.

'Do you love me?'

His smouldering verdant gaze flickers with the brilliance of the starlight seeping in through the windows, and she wonders if it's the wrong question to ask because he's gone rigid, unreadable. She wants to leave him to his silence (because maybe it's what she'd want in his position), but the ache in her chest coils, bears its fangs and bites into the desire she buries deep inside.

'Do you love me, Eren?'

Her reflection is swallowed by his obsidian pupils, but he answers honestly, 'Haven't I shown you, in every way, that I do?'

* * *

**...**

* * *

Her dizzy spells are more frequent this time around.

Annie doesn't recall being this sick, this often. There's no pain— a fact that quells her anxieties, but does nothing for her physical disposition. Can't help it: vomiting into the toilet bowl, sweat beading on her skin, bending to the sour stench of her own bile— the experience is so disgustingly uncomfortable, she wants to dunk herself in an ice box just to feel something other than_ this_.

A tightness smacks her gut again and she retches. Her head is starting to hurt.

Eyes screwed shut, she reaches above her to flush.

She hears the thudding of his crutch as he approaches.

'Annie.'

She looks to the doorway.

His bangs are too long. She can't see his eyes, although despite her spinning vision, she spots a darkness in his face that didn't used to be there.

At any rate, she feels better. She manages to stand, rinses her mouth with tap water, and turns to him to spit at him with an acrid remark.

But Eren already has a hand on her shoulder, kneading her in an attempt to disarm her. Knowing this, she melts into his caring touch, tilts her head back as she sighs and inadvertently compromising herself. For all her toughness, her body cannot assuage the feeling of belonging he gives her. _This_ is what being home feels like; not her father or her training or the stifling Marleyan air— it's her lover's wordless understanding, his mercy.

Eren cards his fingers through her hair, gently undoing the bun at the back of her head before sweeping blonde tresses to the front of her collar. He cups her face with both hands, and even though his flesh is too hot on her already feverish skin, she's silenced by a hard kiss on her mouth.

Annie jolts. Not that she wants to break away.

It's just... surely, he can taste the bitterness on her lips?

Eren doesn't seem to mind, and gives tongue.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Eren stirs her awake in the middle of the night.

It starts as a firm grip on her shoulder, which she shrugs off. In the haze of half-sleep, she can't make out what he says at first. She's compelled to awaken when she feels him manoeuvre so that he's on top, the sheer weight of him ghosting over her body like a razor. And he whispers strange, nonsensical sweetness into her ear (if it weren't for the unmistakable passion woven into every etched breath of his voice, she'd wonder if it were really him) and she laughs because he can't really expect that to work on her, can he?

It's his eyes that melt her, not his words.

Yet he's unrelenting; dips his lips to her cheek, gives her an open-mouthed kiss that finally has her grinning into his ear because_ why not_ humour him, 'Someone's in the mood.'

Eren grunts but doesn't say anything. His hands slip underneath her shirt and bra, bunching them above her breasts so he can get at her breasts with his teeth. She throws her head back onto her pillow and gasps for breaths of air that fail to reach her lungs. He makes her feel this way; helpless and safe, and it used to scare her, but they're beyond that— so she permits herself to desire him, parts her legs to let him know what she wants. He grinds against her and she hisses, claws at his shoulders to remind herself that he's real.

Both hands on her ribcage, he growls low and presses her down onto the mattress. It's a show of force; she doesn't mind it, knows he won't hurt her; he never, ever wants to, and she _knows_ that about him. But his gentle tongue and teeth are not enough on her chest, and she arches her hips upwards, aching for roughness—

'Eren, _please._'

But he _won't _give it to her, and he laughs when she curses at him.

He gives her a kiss before snaking down the length of her. Annie watches the fluid movement of his spine, the shape of his earned body; he is a weapon that has refined itself to outmatch her in just about everything, and she imagines that should there come a time when he shall kill her, he wouldn't make her suffer— no one's ever treated her with as much consideration as he, and it is the beast written on his body that she wants to hold. Because he's human, and while he'll always be special in a way that she could never be, he suffers in equal measure.

She wonders if it's why he clings to her; they both know what it feels like to live with open wounds.

Intoxicated by her own thoughts, she calls for him.

'Eren.'

No response.

His palm settles over her womb, heavy and unfamiliar.

'Thank you,' he says.

And Annie blinks to full consciousness, mulling over his words and tone; neither of which she can make sense of. Her attention snaps to him, and the eyes that meet hers are not warm, but bring a lightning chill up up the her arms. She tries to speak, albeit all that comes out of her is an unconvincing hiss— so soft, it has him chuckling with unconvincing reassurance; whoever he is.

'Eren,' she says again, hoping for anything; anything that'll make her smile, because he always manages to do that for her. But those verdant eyes are tinging grey with more than moonlight, and she comes to the realisation that they aren't alone.

Another personality? A previous shifter? Her gut somersaults at the thought.

_He_ kisses below her navel, squeezes her hips with unnecessary strength.

'What are you doing?' but he won't answer. Annie considers asking for his hands, decides against it as she feels them moving to undress her from the waist down; they're swift and brutal, like he had paid for her.

The window, slightly ajar, welcomes a chill into the room. Yet it isn't what leaves cold burns on her skin; it's him, the uncertainty, the feeling of being kissed and held by someone she does not recognise.

Annie tells him that she's afraid.

He grins, 'Don't be. You've done this before.'

At that, Annie stays very still. Screws her eyes shut, does her best to will her mind wander. But his tongue is insistent, gliding over her in pointed motions that leave her heady and insecure. Reflexively, her thighs tilt inwards. A twisted semblance of laughter from him, and then he palms her open, endeavouring to finish her quickly. And the experience is intense because this has never happened, nor would she have ever been convinced that it could: Eren has always listened, even to what she _doesn't_ say.

'You're awfully silent,' he murmurs— Annie almost misses it (wishes she had).

Annie doesn't engage.

She finds that she can't tear away from this moment. Like she can't tear away herself from him, the pull of her heartstrings impossible to fight despite being cognisant of the fact that this person isn't the home she belongs to.

He sits on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His belt's metal buckle makes an unsettling _clink_ as he undoes it, and then it's the purr of his zipper; Annie braces herself, holds her breath. She feels him hot on her thigh. Then he's crawling over her, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that she inevitably melts into because deep inside, there is _Eren_; his heat, his scent, his tongue— and her moans are low because this is supposed to be a secret even from herself.

'Eren, Eren, _Eren_—'

That smarts; he jumps back. Annie sits on her heels and covers herself haphazardly with the sheets, watching him closely. He leans on the wall, favouring his right side, clutching his opposing stump— she runs his palms over his chest and he recoils, his eyes snapping to her before he eases into her touch. She's trembling, somehow manages to draw their lips together; deep and spellbinding, like the world around them fades, like they've always done, like coming _home_.

He allows this until he doesn't, shoves her away from him.

Eren grimaces and covers his left eye with the hard base of his wrist.

'Don't _look_ at her,' he says, and means it, 'Stop _looking_ at her.'

He grabs his crutch from the ground, stumbles to the bathroom and locks himself in even as dawn breaks.

Annie has to go. She still has her father.

Before she leaves, she knocks on the door. Eren says he's fine, and that he'll see her later.

'I promise,' he says, and she chooses to believe him.

* * *

**...**

* * *

When Annie returns, the apartment is unlocked.

The first thing she notes even before she enters is that no light emanates from inside. Either he isn't home or he's asleep. These possibilities shouldn't be too worrisome, but considering what transpired last night, her heart is racing as she opens the door.

She finds Eren laying on his bed, an arm draped over his eyes. Does he have a headache?

Annie clears her throat, 'Are you ill?'

He groans. Annie shuts the door behind her and takes off her boots. She walks over and stops in the middle of the room, next to the round table where Eren used to drink by his lonesome. A roll of bandages and scissors are laid out. Makes sense. It's been a while since he changed the bandages on his stump. Annie suddenly feels like a bad partner. She makes a mental reminder that she'll be the one to dress his injuries next time. She could probably do a better job of it than him anyway, he's too careless especially when it comes to himself

But his leg isn't the problem, apparently. As she edges closer (because the air is increasingly thick the closer she treads), she can see that there are bandages wrapped over the left side of his face, beneath his bangs and above his nose. Splotches of fresh red stain the white fabric, smearing past the dressing and trailing towards his lip— shit, he's still bleeding.

Tears threaten her. She holds them back because really, she's been through this before, hasn't she? Eren doing something reckless, dangerous, and she walking in on what she'll never comprehend. This isn't new.

She sits beside him. His good eye blinks, crinkles at the corner as he takes her hand in his. Annie can't smile back when there's nothing to smile about.

Her words are devoid of emotion, 'What have you done to yourself?'

'Ah...'

'Eren,' she cups his jaw, leans in for a lick of the familiar heat of him, 'Why?'

His eyelid is heavy; fluttering with waning strength, he spits tightly, 'I can't fucking stand it when other men look at you.'

Eren brings her hand to his lips, and his kiss is long and full of longing. Almost makes her want to smack him and scream_ I'm right here, you don't have to be so far away_. But he probably won't understand because try as he might to reassure her that he cherishes her, he's something she will never be:_ special_. They are both human, but he is special.

And despite being so much more than she could ever hope to be, he gives her his all.

'I love you, Annie. I really, really do.'

* * *

**Thank you so much to everyone continuing to support this story! I hope that everyone is safe and healthy during social distancing.**

**Thank you all for the warm reception last chapter. Some of the things you guys said really touched me, and thank you for that. **

**If you have an account, I've responded to you privately. Otherwise, I do so below:**

**paramyth, I hope you're safe and healthy! I'm doing well, the bright side being I have more time to work on things like this story. Thank you so much for recognising the little ways that Eren tries to make Annie feel special, as well as his secondhand pain from her. I promise that I don't want to write this story with the intention of making it hurt. I just want to explore love, relationships, and the feelings and confusion that surrounds those. I totally understand your frustration that I didn't include Annie's father's reaction, so I wrote a little bit of him into this chapter. I hope that it made the whole picture a little clearer, and that you enjoyed it! More than anything, thank you so much for always encouraging me!**

**anonymous, thank you so much!**

**Guest, thank you for your review! **

**Guest, thank you so much for your very kind review! To be honest, I don't really know how this story will end. I promise that I won't make it a tragedy for the sake of doing so. I promise that whatever the ending will be, I would have given it a lot of thought and meaning behind the way I go about it.**


	13. Kiss

She doesn't look at Eren the same way again.

It's impossible after what he's done. Should Annie be truthful, she'd admit that the problem is the glaring hole in his personhood; that for her sake, he's willing to go further than ever, arguably even more than for his own family. Because at least he can turn his back on the comrades he's known so long as he's convinced himself it's for the greater good. But when it comes to her, his actions bear no such rational bearing— only a very simple caveat: I don't want to hurt Annie.

_I don't want to hurt **you**_.

Annie mulls over this, this notion that has her gut somersaulting in her throat. The entirety of her life thus far has been wasted in dedication to serving people who punish her existence. And she never questioned it; it's a waste of time to do so, it's not like she can change it. It's a cruel world.

Except, it isn't, not all of the time.

Eren is real, and he's nice to her. He no longer has much of his heart to give, but whatever remains beyond his personal hell, he gives to her.

Prior to her exposure as the Female Titan, her memories are hazy. All she remembers is that they used to spar, he used to admire her, she used to _like_ him— try as she might to distance herself from the facade of a soldier, she couldn't remove herself from being human, and he encouraged that forsaken part of her to hum greedily. He ignited some odd sense of desire for companionship, which was solely directed to him.

Now that she's older, Annie understands that she was _drawn_ to him. Still is.

For the very first time, she can be certain of _his_ feelings for her; because he's shown her in absolutely every way just how much he cares for her.

She tries to do the same. Performing affection is new to her, although she's more than willing to learn.

Not the convoluted, darkened version of love she's made in her head: that if she's subservient and lets Eren do whatever he wants to her, or lets him have her in ways she tells herself she'd never allow if it weren't_ him_— none of that is an attack on his character. It's less to do with their relationship and more to do with her inability to be loving and in turn, accepting the same from him.

She starts with his bandages. They're soaked red and smell like shit. Once she completely unwraps them from Eren's head, the stench intensifies. She crinkles her nose, albeit takes her time wiping the botched side of his face clean. He groans in pain.

'Mess with the other eye, too,' Annie mutters, 'Since you're apparently a masochist. Do _you_ want to try the belt?'

Eren is quiet. Annie applies an antiseptic, which makes his skin burn and his teeth grit. He's pretty sure he whimpered, but his pitiful noises have no effect on his stoney caretaker. Annie picks up a pair of pliers to take a medicinal cotton ball to his mutilated eyeball.

He winces. 'You're an idiot,' Annie grumbles the further he shrinks away, 'You severed your own leg. How can you be such a baby over an eye?'

'It fucking hurts.'

Annie scoffs, 'You've had worse.'

'Hm... I've always dealt with it myself, though.'

She freezes. Looks at him with barely-contained frustration, 'So?'

'All I can see is you coming at me with a sharp object.'

'Yeah. I have to tend to your wounds,' she continues dabbing at his flesh (it'll scar for sure without his regenerative abilities), then adds, 'You stupid baby.'

Eren opens his mouth to speak before promptly snapping it back shut. He still squirms as Annie works with his injuries, but he's silently cooperative throughout.

* * *

**...**

* * *

When Eren wakes in the afternoon, he expects to be by his lonesome.

The dim orange lighting of his apartment is a dead giveaway to the time of day. His lengthy slumber fails to come as a shock to him— he's all but gouged his eye out. The mental exhaustion far exceeds the physical, and he expects that he'll be thinking back to that gruesome moment at random intervals in the years he has left. At any rate, it was simply what had to be done— _I don't want them looking at her._

He flops to his side, sweeps his feet to the floor. Reaches for his crutch, stands on wobbly legs— his stomach's killing him. Good sign; at least he has an appetite.

'What are you doing?'

Eren startles. His attention snaps to Annie, who's slaving over a large pot simmering on the stove.

He groans, 'That's my line. Why are you still here?'

'Cause you'll probably just forget to eat,' she narrows her piercing eyes, 'You haven't cooked in days. No leftovers, dishes... Nothing.'

'I could just be really good at cleaning up. Captain Levi—'

'Enough,' Annie sighs, scoops a helping of whatever she's making into a bowl. He sniffs at the air; doesn't smell good, but it doesn't smell like anything, which is a lot better than smelling _bad_. Hence, he isn't so frightened as she approached with the serving of... rice soup (?), 'Porridge,' she says, as if reading his mind, 'It'll go down easy. Eat.'

Eren looks her over, half-anticipating that she's about to shove the hot plate to his face. Bitterness has his mouth contorting in a half-formed snarl. Undeterred, she stands perfectly unmoving, unthreatening. Eventually, he reaches for the bowl. Annie swats his hand away and chastises him.

'Sit down.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

Annie demands that every meal be at the table.

Initially, he's struck by how proper she is. She's so crass and to-the-point, and her techniques so bloody underhanded, he never took her to possess a shred of dignity. Eren means no harm by this; he does not judge her for having vastly different ideologies from him. What shocks him is how important the insignificant detail of _eating at the table_ is to her. To the point where if he doesn't obey, he doesn't get to eat.

It is the only time that Annie reminds him of his late mother. They're nothing alike otherwise.

In hindsight, he's grateful that he gets to observe her eating habits. Since Annie's weight has been declining and she can be a stubborn ox, he often fears the worst. In reality, it's the opposite: he has to remind her not to have a secret helping of this-and-that too late into the evening, or she'll have trouble falling asleep.

'I sleep better on a full stomach.'

Eren's eye glimmers, 'Lies. Admit that I'm a comfy pillow.'

'That's the lie. You're too hot.'

He frowns, 'Actually, my body is getting weaker... I tire easily. My clothes are loose, too.'

For a while, Annie does not respond. He thinks that it's his cue to let the conversation fizzle out. She proceeds to wash her cutlery in the sink, her back to him— he doesn't mind it, so long as he sees her alive and well. In a minute, she whips around and speaks softly, 'You're handsome still.'

He blinks, not quite knowing what just happened. Did he hear her right? Cause that'd mean that the caustic Annie Leonhart was actually nice, without the inflection of vitriol staining her sweet words... Words: a compliment, she just gave him.

'Stop staring,' Annie blushes, the haughtiness returning in her tone, 'Or I'll never say it again.'

Eren shrugs. Tilts his head away, hoping the faint lighting of the candle by the kitchen is enough to hide his reddening face.

He hears the squeaking of the wooden floor as she approaches. Her footsteps are impossible to hear otherwise; she's a seasoned spy for a reason.

She stands in front of him. He makes no move other than to tilt his face up to get a good look at her; a rare moment that she towers over him.

Moonilght filters in, melding with the warmth of the dying candle.

Annie palms his shoulders. He shudders at her cold touch, rendered inviting only by the way the iciness of her eyes melts into the darkness of her dilating pupils. Her hands travel upwards, past his neck, over his jaw, fisting in his hair; then she kneads his head expertly, as though she can see all the knots of thought lodged in his brain, and only then does he mirror the lax parting of her lips.

Eren exhales shakily. His lashes flutter.

'Y-You're—' swallows, _breathe_—, 'Good at this.'

'Mm.'

They continue just like that. His good eye shuts, his breath beats on her wrist. Annie shivers, thankful that he can't see the effect he has on her. Her gaze falls on him; what is he talking about? He's beautiful, more so now that he's developed into a man— the ferocious spark ingrained in the fangs of his eyes is replaced with contained compassion (albeit the blade of his resolve still catches the sun), his calloused hands, the poor excuse of a moustache he refuses to shave even as she's coming at him with a razor on hand.

These are the meaningless little things that she fixates on.

It's not his fault that she's so far gone.

He opens his eye. 'What are you thinking about?'

'You.'

He smiles, 'Me?'

'Yes. You, Eren.'

His heart skips a beat.

Annie descends to her knees. He's about to ask her what she's doing till she cups his groin. He twitches at the contact, holds her by the side of her arms, 'Annie,' her name on his tongue is not a warning, 'Annie,' he says again, pleading, 'Listen— you don't have to.'

Annie unzips his fly, eyes on him even as she takes him in her hand; stiff, aching— he jolts and she's aware that he's nervous, but wonders if he can hear the wild rhythm of her own heart. 'I want you,' she's soft when saying this. Then lowers her head to lick up his length. His hips jerk. Annie kisses down the underside, 'I want to,' then comes back up to the tip to take it in her mouth. He shudders, hands on either side of her head.

She moans on purpose. Fingers trembling, fisting her hair, and she doesn't seem to care.

She passes over his length once, twice, before regarding him: and she keeps him there, eyes on him, and she burns at the eroticism of him squirming for her. Nevertheless, he's patient. He waits for her, offers nothing other than a sweep of her hair, keeping the bangs out of her face. He tells her she's beautiful. Her gut tightens pleasantly, and Annie wants to cry at how easily he's turned this around on her.

Annie releases him, gets to her feet. He looks disappointed until she starts undressing, motions with a nod for him to do the same. There's not much else for him to do besides unbutton his shirt. She won't wait for him; straddles him, takes him in too quickly. Thinking he won't notice, she allows her features to pinch. Immediately, he embraces her, and she realises that she'll never get used to the warmth of being wrapped in his arms— he feels like home.

'The way you want it,' he whispers, 'Exactly how you want it.'

If they did this back in the day, she could probably tilt her head to kiss him— he used to be a scrawny guy without much height. Now he's a man, and she has to look up at him with _that look_ in her eyes for him to bend to her. Though somehow, she doesn't believe that he'd kiss her any differently; always so gentle and wanting and then bursting into a hard press that gets their teeth clicking together— it's not enough. She wants to melt with him so that they're one being, so they'll never be apart.

She moves slowly. Feels good to take him like this. She hopes that the sparks are going off in his skin; the same sentimentality that pounds from the dark confines of her ribcage every time he's faced with the opportunity to hurt her. And every time, he chooses not to. Every time.

'Eren,' she moans his name; he tastes sweet in her mouth.

He does not reply, but throws his head back, showcasing the plain of his neck.

The room's gone dark. No more embers, only moonlight.

He glows. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark shadows crawling on his skin— but oh, how we glows beneath the kiss of midnight's luminescence.

Annie wants all of this; to end with him and her and the darkness and the light.

When he comes, he's beautiful. So beautiful and handsome and brimming with the warmth of a man, she feels unworthy.

Afterwards, when they lay next to each other, he holds her like she intends to vanish.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Annie does not leave his side for four days.

She manages to get him to shower every day. In the beginning, she tried to win him over by offering to hop in there_ with_ him, but his ears go hot and he's insistent that he'll be fine on his own. She never takes his rejection personally.

She cooks for him, too. Not well, but she does.

It should be suspicious how concerned she is for his wellbeing, but he's in love.

Eren decides that it's better to live in the moment for a little while. Highly irrational and dangerous to immerse himself in the presence of an enemy, but the truth is that he's never really thought of her as that— not when he realised that she's a shifter, and certainly not now that she's tending to his body; dressing his wounds, making him (tasteless) food, permitting him to rub his feet on hers when the chill of the night is overwhelming— this is all too good to be true, but it_ is_ real, and he wakes up to her every morning.

The fifth day of their respite comes, shattering the illusion in a million jagged pieces at his feet. Reality slaps him with the weight of the world, and Eren is disgusted by how unprepared he is for its impact.

'I need to see my father,' Annie declares, 'I'll return tomorrow morning.'

He smiles, 'Sure,' lets his mind wander to an imaginary world he last revisited in his youth, when he fantasised about a world without Titans. This time around, it isn't vengeance he dreams of; instead, it's a peaceful future he will never have, with someone who will never last.

Annie notices the faraway look in his eyes. She clears her throat, 'Unless you want me to give you a break...?'

He shakes his head, 'That's not it. I just...' Annie tilts her head quizzically, and Eren blushes for reasons he doesn't understand, 'Sorry. It's nothing.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Let's drop it.'

'No,' she cups his face, gently, the way he does to her— tips his face upwards so their eyes meet, 'You can trust me.'

Desperate, Eren searches her expression for dishonesty. He can _always_ spot it on her; the ugly stitching beneath her beautiful features. Always, save for this moment, as he deludes himself into believing her lies— because this _has_ to be a lie. He _can't_ trust her, no matter how badly he wants her by his side. She'll never understand what he has to go through, even if he wants her (_this_), she won't understand that _he's just like her_— there's nothing to admire about him.

'Don't you care about what I'm here to do?'

Annie thumbs over the contour of his mouth. She wants to kiss him until their lips bruise and their teeth click and their bodies burn. But it's a cheap trick if she wants him to open up the way she has to him, so instead settles for a soft 'Hm,' before smiling at him with a learned sweetness that suits her well, 'It's not like I can stop you, can I?'

'No.'

'Ha... That's it, then.'

Gingerly, he takes her by the wrists. For all his genteel, Annie stiffens.

She won't take her eyes off of him; prays that this won't tear them apart, whatever_ this_ is, although it probably will. But she stares right back into the verdant gaze that kisses her scars, even as it clouds over with a coldness that gives no promise of mercy— she forgives him already.

'You can trust me,' she repeats.

Eren lets her go. She looks disheartened, more so when he reassures her that, 'If you don't come back, I completely understand.'

Singed, she takes her hands away from him, does the same with her eyes. In her vivid memories of him, she considers who he is; willing to go so far for a master plan she knows nothing about. Without so much as a hint from him, Annie is certain taht this is the beginning of the end for Marley, for her father, for the home she ought to be laid to rest in— Eren will take all of that away from her in the blink of an eye.

Because he's special, does what needs to be done, and she is so ordinary that all she can do is look up at him as he sets fire to the sky.

On the other hand, she could spend the time she has left in peace— as she originally intended all those years ago.

'Go, Annie. It's OK.'

Annie allows herself to linger on his image for a beat longer. As she turns away from him and makes her way out the door, she does not glance back once.

* * *

**...**

* * *

It's hard to breathe in the wake of heartbreak.

As soon as Annie shuts the door behind her, Eren surprises himself with his own tears.

They trickle down his cheeks in lukewarm rivets. They seep into his mouth, to his tongue. They taste like freedom.

He doesn't feel much, but it hurts all the same.

His stump sears. He knows better than to scratch, can't help but at least clutch at the loose flesh, almost digging at it with how hard he's pressing— all nothing in comparison to the rest of him. He aches all over for many reasons, most of which he can do nothing about. Or maybe he's always bled this badly, and the presence of someone he loves wholeheartedly was but a bandaid on the gaping wound he calls _resolve_.

It's high time Annie left. Any longer and he'd feel guilty about stringing her along.

In a week's time, Eren is due to meet Zeke at the veterans' hospital. Prior, he must be admitted and undergo a day's worth of medical examinations, which is why he cut his own leg off to begin with. The diagnostics team won't question the necessity of care for someone lacking essential parts. He'll pretend he can't walk well on his crutch, they'll say he needs therapy... He'll pretend he's got amnesia. Doesn't matter, so long as he buys enough time to speak with Zeke.

Annie is absent from the picture. Really, she has no business being around him. Had he left her in Paradis, Hange and the others would have seen to it that she would at least be kept alive, seeing as he had sold them the bullshit plan of _retaining the Founder through a single bloodline_. Hange was his biggest supporter. To be expected; it was the best excuse to breed a generous sample size for her to conduct her experiments on. Other than that, she's a disgrace to Erwin Smith's groundwork— caught up in her own weak ideals, unable to see the world as it is. How could he entrust the Female Titan, an invaluable resource, to someone like that?

Eren reconsiders. The truth may not be as conniving as he'd like to believe.

He wants to grant Annie her freedom. It's no one's to withhold from her anyway.

Yet upon doing so, he feels the chains of his bond to her weighing heavy on his wrists, his ankle, his neck; a noose that he can't seem to tear away from as it may very well be the only thing binding him to his dwindling humanity; the part of him that loves. Not the way he loves Armin or Mikasa, or Historia: a love with no reason, a love that makes no sense in this world. They're on opposing sides and there are problems that they cannot transcend together. Regardless, he pines for her.

Annie's face is burned to the back of his lids. Can't even sleep without the ghost of her haunting him.

The way she flusters when he forces her to confront her demons. The way her eyes glaze over when he faces her with care.

How proud she looks whenever she serves him the shitty porridge she makes. He always smiles back, not because he likes it (because he doesn't), but because she looks so _happy._

Eren drags a hand down his face; in the end, he's tormented by his _own_ memories. Forget the dead aunt eaten alive by dogs or the ancestors burnt by Marleyan authorities: it's the living that cuts him deeply. It's Annie, and the fact that she doesn't choose him, and the reality that he can_ never_ choose her.

He tries in vain to distract himself. Starts writing a letter addressed to the comrades that have been with him for so many years, knowing fully well that they'll be residing in the Azumabito residence. He needs to include them in his plans. None of this is possible without them; the world needs to a demonstration of Paradis' strength. That will likely deter fatal operations against Paradis, at least for a few years; it's time his people need, and that's what he wishes he had in abundance, and it is precisely why he shall take what is required by force.

Three pages.

That's all it takes.

Eren folds the letter, stuffs it in the pocket of one of his spare pair of pants. He'll wear it when he checks into the hospital. He'll figure the rest out later.

He takes a shower because it reminds him of companionship. The chilly air nipping at his skin as he steps out of the bathroom is yet another reminder.

He cannot, at this stage, open his bad eye.

Funny; his tiny bed feels too big for him now. Either he's lost too much muscle mass or he's gotten used to laying next to someone. He doesn't recognise the scent of his sheets, missing the rosey notes of her perfume. The other day, he confronted her about it. Annie claimed she wouldn't don such a _frivolous enchantment_, as she had put it— so eloquently, it was evident she had thought of a response in advance. She's so confident in her lies that he won't let her in on the fact that he found the culpable pink bottle when he went through her satchel (searching for recording devices and evidence of other men, or just to know a little more about her).

He falls asleep.

When he comes to, there are tears in his eyes.

Water will help. Whenever he's upset, Annie fetches him water.

He tries to sit up, is weighed down by a familiar mass draped over his stomach; a hand on his shoulder, the allure of roses in her hair.

Tears in his eyes, in his throat:

'It isn't morning yet.'

Annie chokes on her confession, 'But I can't sleep without you.'

* * *

**Thank you to everyone reading and supporting this story! It's been a great journey. Thank you for all your encouragement throughout this project.**

**I want to let you know that this story will end either next chapter or in a couple of chapters. I'm hoping that the next instalment will be the penultimate chapter, so the one after that will be the final one. Because I really can't anticipate the length, I'm not sure! But I do know how to end this now, and thank you so much for all the interest and support.**

**This story was supposed to end some time ago, but it felt incomplete to leave it where I originally intended to. So this is now double the length I estimated, and I couldn't be happier about it. It allowed me to explore themes that I don't think I could have done otherwise, with characters that I really enjoy reading about in the series.**

**Thank you for all the support! I really hope that you enjoy the final chapters.**

**Guest, are you paramyth? Thank you so much for all your kindness and encouragement! I revamped the previous chapter so that it's clearer. The consciousness of the previous Titan shifters were messing with Eren's head, or it may also be cognitive dissonance on Eren's part as he can't reconcile living a normal life with Annie and dedicating himself to the upcoming Liberio massacre. So everything you guessed can be correct depending on how you look at it. But the important part I wanted to show is that no matter what, he wants to protect her.**

**freya, thank you for your review! Yes, you are absolutely right— Eren wasn't himself, and Annie picked up on that.**

**Forevershine, ahhh thank you for all the encouragement and kindness! Thank you so much for the amazing commentary. Everything you said was so insightful that it really motivated me! Well, I never said that they wouldn't be together, but even if they do stick with one another, love may not conquer all. At the time that I said that, I really didn't know how to end this. I kind of just kept rolling with the punches, writing what I thought was natural. But now! Now I know exactly how to end this. I just hope I'm ending it the proper way.**


	14. Wedding

Annie hardly spends the night anymore.

Mr. Leonhart doesn't blame her. As a child, she clung onto him because he's all she's had, and he was selfish enough to tug at whatever heartstrings he or Magath hadn't beaten out of her; even so, it is _he_ who's the villain in her life. Perhaps she's forgotten. Worse, she believes him to be her family. And he can tell without so much of an utterance of disobedience from her that he isn't good enough. He probably realised that earlier than she, or perhaps she hasn't realised it at all.

Annie— his daughter— is _not_ happy.

Not around him.

So when she starts disappearing in the middle of the night, he pretends not to notice. When his medication runs out faster than what was indicated on his prescription, he does not raise his concerns. Lets it all happen because truthfully, Annie's never given him much grief aside from his useless leg (which still sends shivers down his spine for a different reason entirely). Besides, the perils of managing the mischief of a young woman is an inescapable responsibility of a parent. He can do that much, right?

However, when he finally _does_ catch her returning home in the late afternoon, he's at a loss of what to do. For once, Annie doesn't look at him with fear or loathing or confusion: she looks at him with nothing behind her all-telling gaze, because she no longer needs him.

She vanishes once more, without warning. Four days on the latest occasion, and her return is as shocking as the day she appeared at his doorstep after so many years.

They eat dinner together, since he invites her to do so. He doesn't ask of her whereabouts and she gives no clues, but he _knows_— he sees it in her glowing visage; a radiance he recalls seeing in her only once when she was about three years old, when he let her have some ice cream. For her birthday.

He palms the dining table— it was _this_ table.

Back then, he let her have two scoops because after the first, she asked for more. The second serving was gobbled up and yet again, she wanted more. He denied her and she wailed like a child (because that was precisely what she was— a _child_), but her shrill cries ignited a strange emptiness in the pit of his stomach that made him want to slam his head (and hers) to the wall. The following morning, he began her training.

'It's good, Dad.'

Mr. Leonhart snaps out of his stupor, 'What?'

'The stew. It's good.'

'Ah.'

Her father's expectations woven into the forefront of her mind, Annie does not finish her food. She pushes half of it to the side, stands, takes his bowl on top of hers, and makes her way to the sink. The least she can do is get some chores done. After all, it's her fault he's incapacitated.

She hears his chair scuff the wood as he pushes off. Then the steady thumping of his cane fading backwards, up the stairs, above her head while he moves around in his bedroom. For his age and handicap, he's stubborn.

If Eren were able to live a long life, he'd surely end up every bit as obstinate.

_Thump, thump, thump_, again. Traveling back the way he came from; down the staircase, louder as he approaches her from behind.

A feeble hand, soft with age, squeezes her shoulder. Annie freezes— when had her father last touched her like this? And what kind of feelings had it bring about?

'I need to give you something,' he says softly, to which Annie exhales. She places the clean dishes on the rack as her father slides a thick envelope on the counter. She dries her hands, picks it up. He motions for her to open it, so she does, runs her thumb across the stack. Never before has she seen so much money all at once. To the point where she can smell it. Does he want her to go to the market for him...? Too much he's given her for a single trip, though. Could it be something special for tomorrow?

Annie's nerves prickle.

Feigning composure, she inquires, 'What should I buy, Dad?'

He does not immediately respond. Instead, turns his back on her, stumbles to a nearby chair as if he's lost proficiency with his cane. A nice daughter would go and help him; Annie knows better than to take a stab at his ego. The sight hurts her all the same.

Mr. Leonhart sighs upon taking his seat. He throws his head back and takes his hat off, 'It's your money.'

Annie squints. First at him, then to the contents of the envelope, mentally willing the paper notes to give her some answers. A minute passes until she can no longer stand the silence, so she stares right at him. It gets his attention, but he can't seem to meet her gaze properly. His eyes shift around some unremarkable markings on the wooden floor.

'Ever since you left for the island, I get a cheque every month.'

_Oh_. Annie shifts her weight between her feet, 'It's yours, then.'

'No. I didn't do anything for it.'

'Come on, Dad.'

He grimaces, 'What?'

His expression is unsettling. Chills her to the bone; the same way he used to make her feel when he used to strike her with his belt.

Mr. Leonhart starts laughing. Really laughing— barking, like he's drunk and high and his perception of the world is a colourful dream. The sigh makes Annie uneasy, so she remains glued to the spot, unable to do anything; as always with him, never able to do much about her own discomfort.

'You,' he rasps, obstructed by his thorny mouth, '— are not my daughter. I don't know who you are.'

'Dad—'

'You've got a different look in your eyes.'

She scoffs, looks away, to the subtle luminescence of the moon bleeding in through the window.

'And I don't blame you, Annie. I'm happy for you,' she does not give him the satisfaction of seeing her face, but the permafrost of her mask glazes over with foreign warmth and her father cannot help but smile. This confuses Annie again, and her cracking features give her away. Mr. Leonhart raises a hand, in surrender or in preparation to make a solemn oath, and finally chooses to speak, 'I have destroyed you.'

Annie shakes her head, 'No. You're my Dad.'

'And look at what I've done to you.'

She shakes her head again, but slower.

'In your naivety, it's easy to be tricked, so I understand why you _think_ that we love each other, but Annie—' he groans as he rises, fast on his feet despite his injury. She won't help him, but he doesn't need her to. In a beat, he's in front of her, clasps her shoulders, desperate and trembling and he grips her with enough force for her flesh to burn but she won't cry out, 'I have perverted it for you. This ends here.'

'What are you saying, Dad?'

He laughs once more (loud and boisterous, a blade to her throat), 'Oh, Annie— what don't you get?'

Her jaw clenches.

'You're numb as a rock. You don't feel anything.'

Annie's never felt so worthless. Can't even see the world amidst the sheen of tears that cloud her vision, threatening to fall and expose the ugly underbelly of her perfect exterior. She knows he can tell, for the air is thick with pity, like he feels sorry for her, belittles her. _I could kill you_, she wants to say, jog his memory. But what good will that do? It won't bring back a father who never existed outside of her hopes anyway. And it won't make him love her, or her love him, or crush the past so they can start anew.

'So what have I been fighting for all this time?' she demands, 'Why make me promise to come back to you?'

'I don''t know.'

* * *

**...**

* * *

_'I can't sleep without you.'_

Nothing less than the truth. Eren reacts as per usual; with the back of his hand caressing her cheek, his good eye capturing the starlight she knows exists outside of these four walls, and glimmering at her beneath the molten green sea of his gaze; she sees her reflection and wonders if he knows, _really knows_, who he's looking at. If so, why look at her like she created the sky if she's fated to rest fifty feet deep in the earth? And he'll— they'll _all_— keep on living without her, trampling over a nameless grave.

Eren cradles her jaw, feels her trembling on his palm.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

Annie shrugs _no_.

Eren does not force the issue. Holds her to his chest in a tight embrace; when the heat of him is all-consuming, it does not take long for her tremors to subside. He kisses her forehead and she kisses the wet spot she's left under his collar. Rather than hurt or chide her for ruining what may possibly be his only decent shirt, he pulls her closer, hushes her even though it feels like permission to scream; every kiss he leaves on her face, hair, body feels like an apology for something he hasn't done.

Compelled to defend herself, Annie spits through gritted teeth, 'This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything.'

'I just want to hold you.'

And it's such a blunt reiteration of what she already knows that it sort of angers her— like she's being forced to rely on him, like he'll save her. He runs his fingers along her head, tugs at the hairpin that keeps her bun in place. It comes undone and he thereafter cups her face, tilts her to look at him. 'I'm fine,' doesn't convince him (never has). He kisses her slowly, sweetly, communicating in the sparks firing on her skin what he thinks of her; that she's capable and beautiful and that she has him.

For what it's worth, she has him.

* * *

**...**

* * *

In the morning, Annie is excited.

Eren picks up on her energy even if he won't match it. Actually, the fine lines of his face render him incredibly sullen, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. She can't blame him, considering his physical state and the constant reminder that humans reside outside of Paradis. His body and dogma have been crushed and so Annie wonders if now it is his consciousness that teeters on the precipice of insanity.

Still, she's energised by the prospect that she's gained some independence for them both.

He's seated at the table. At her encouragement, he finishes breakfast.

Rather than clean up after him, Annie slides the envelope towards him. Beaming, she declares, 'I can actually help you out now.'

Eren tilts his head, quizzical. He doesn't seem impressed, which unnerves her.

'There's money in there.'

His only reaction is rub the back of his neck. He offers no other clues.

Annie laughs uncomfortably, 'I can contribute to the rent, or—'

'I'm leaving, Annie,' and her heart drops at this unexpected confession because when did _she_ agree to that? 'So I don't need your help,' he adds, not giving her a beat to recover, twisting the knife further into her; after all these years, he still hadn't learned how to talk to women— how to be delicate and reliable, his callous words never coming close to the same genteel of his passionate touch.

'Where are you going?' and she finds comfort in the lack of emotion in her voice.

'Who knows.'

His response makes her want to step on someone's (not his) throat. Opts instead to tuck a long bang behind an ear; a habitual response to her crumbling confidence. Now more than ever, she remembers that Eren is _not_ her father.

At the very least, Eren does not pretend as though he's guiltless or that their impending separation has no effect on him. His eyes fall to her hands, and he reaches for them. Except, she pulls away, feels different, like a phantom pain burning her in places she didn't know existed. Like she's grown invisible limbs and parts for the sole purpose of hurting at the notion that she has to lose something (someone) she's always wanted.

Her palms settle over her womb. His eye softens with an emotion she can't place and has never seen before. Then he reaches for her knee, and this time, she does not move away. His touch soothes her.

'You'll be a great mother,' he smiles, liquid sunshine bleeding from his eyes and into the cracks of her heart, forging strength inside of her, 'If you'll have it.'

Annie exhales shakily, 'It's not like that. I knew what you— what _we_— were doing.'

'I know.'

He leans in for another kiss; she doesn't think twice to oblige, scrambling for purchase on his thin shirt as if he intends to vanish if she won't sink her claws into him. This possibility or soon-reality is an event Annie is entirely unprepared for because she has waited for this for _so long_— to belong to someone and to feel like belonging isn't a burden, that caring for someone isn't _heavy_ or dumb or outside the realm of her birthright.

For all the demons of this lifetime, Eren succeeded in the impossible feat of making her feel weightless. Like the light that filters into this tiny apartment, blanketing the rust and wood with the promise of a new morning.

Annie whimpers when they part. She won't stop touching him, cups the cheek below his eye— trying to stare at him long enough for his image to imprint on her mind.

'...It wasn't a ploy.'

Delicately, her nails rake the back of his head, 'Hm?'

Eren takes her by the wrists, fingers loose around her, 'What we did,' he explains, 'I told myself that it was all part of a plan, but... shit, Annie—' he laughs with his eye, 'I missed you.'

She does not respond. Measures his sincerity with her all-knowing scrutiny, revels in the fact that he's incapable of selling her a lie. She never could teach him how to, and she was his mentor in so ways. It's funny how he the tables have turned.

'I don't regret waking you.'

She lets him kiss between her brows, calls for him— 'Eren.'

'Yeah?'

'I'm glad you did.'

She feels him trembling.

Annie wraps her arms around as much of his back as she can. In their youth, she could hook her limbs around him quite easily, pummeling him to the ground so easily it was a turn-off, and now— her eyes widen— she doesn't want to hurt him at all. The notion sends lightning pangs through her veins; a learned (?) penalty against her unchecked cruelty. Her father may view her as inferior, but she'd rather feel too much than feel nothing at all.

Eren cards his fingers through her hair. He kisses her everywhere; mindlessly almost, like he's leaving himself on her.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Eren takes her to the same spot in Liberio where they first bumped into each other; the one overlooking the ocean.

He hadn't appeared as exhausted then as he is in the present. He had worn a nice suit (where'd _that_ go?), a hat, and his hair was shorter.

'I'm half the man I used to be,' he says jokingly.

Annie wishes she could find tender words to comfort him.

He allows her to help him onto a bench. She takes his crutch from him, leans it against the side of her seat. From her peripheral, she can observe his hands; curled into loose fists atop his thighs, quivering from the chill of the setting sun or perhaps the weighty burden of a secret he hasn't divulged. Even if it turns out to be the latter, she isn't frightened. She takes one of his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers together.

Eren rears his head to her, 'You're rather affectionate today.'

'Are you complaining?'

'No way,' indignantly, emphasising that he_ can_ handle her.

She gives him a squeeze. It's reassuring to see bursts of emotion from him once in a while.

They settle into a comfortable silence. He thumbs her wrist gently, idly, akin to how he'd pet a kitten; the corners of his mouth lift, but the look in his eye is a little sad. Annie mirrors this expression because she feels it too, whatever this piercingly cold ache in her chest is— worse than the day of her departure for Paradis, worse than her father tearing down the walls he's built. Yet her trust in Eren is unwavering; if it hurts, she knows that it won't for long.

She rests her head on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath.

'I was thinking we could make our vows to the ocean instead of a priest.'

Annie bites back a smile.

Intoxicated by feelings she does not quite understand, her eyes fixate on the blinding fire of the scorching sky above.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she whispers, 'I mean, what's the point? It's stupid.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because it is.'

'It's not, Annie. We love each other.'

She faces him. He matches her stance, his pupil swallowing nearly the full diameter of his eye despite the imposing sun beating down on them. She wonders; what can he see? What drives him to be so strong, so eager to go against the flow? She'll never understand people like him. Even so, it is the danger of him that she chases, the addictive heat of the passion brimming from his words that encases her in secondhand confidence.

She inhales too sharply, giving away her guard.

'You're just going to leave me.'

He cups her face. Firmly, gently; the juxtaposition of his loving touch.

'We don't have to be together temporally,' Eren says, tracing the contour of her lips, 'What we share, what we feel; no one can say we didn't experience any of it, or take it away from us— no one ever _could_, and that is the whole point of loving each other.'

'How can you leave someone you love?'

Eren goes rigid. She's hyperaware of his stiff demeanour, mercifully chooses not to zero in on his moment of weakness. She knows that she's struck him somewhere deep and that is more than enough; if he so much as thinks about what she's saying, then maybe he could end this facade and leave her alone to rot in numbness. Sometimes, she doesn't want to feel human.

He collects himself. Draws her in, tucks her head under his chin.

'Eren,' she starts, heartbeat pounding in her eardrums, 'You're not thinking—'

'My head's completely clear. More so than it's been in months. I don't understand what you're so apprehensive about.'

'Look at the world we live in. Where do you get off talking about these idiotic—'

'Sure, Annie, I'll give you that. This world_ is_ cruel.'

Is that an opening?

Annie wriggles free of his grasp, searches his handsome features for that weakness again, for a sign that he's coming back to his senses. He's simply not— gaze gone black with a dream that only the monsters can see.

'In this shitty world, we created something real,' he says with a smile that glimmers in the darkness of his eye, 'We both feel it; defied all odds and created this little space where all that matters is you and me. And that's better than anything _normal_ we could've had if we did everything right in this fucked up world.'

She considers this.

She knows it's bullshit.

She melts anyway.

'I'll wait, OK? In that apartment—' her tone climbs, lashes fluttering as she loses herself in him, spellbound by the lax parting of his lips and the allure of an insane promise, 'Every single day until you come back to us,' she brings his hand with deliberate precision over her abdomen, his image ablaze in her eyes.

A phantom washes over his expression, a ghost of the person he used to be.

'I won't hurt you,' he swears, and means it, 'No matter what.'

The flickering embers of the sea bounce off his face, tinging his skin with the same fire that resides inside of him. Until all that remains against the merciless flames is the stark verdant of his eye, boring into her with all the bite of a freshly forged blade slashing at the hardened parts of her heart.

In the evening, he kisses the whole of her body, committed to etching the unique mapping of her skin to his memory. He pays particular attention to the perimeter of life that grows inside of her; shuddering, sucking in breaths of air that fail to make it to his lungs— and she lets him because the tears seep out of the corners of her eyes.

The morning comes and he's still by her side. They go to the same spot again, overlooking the ocean.

It feels like they share eternity, but Annie knows better: she treats every waking moment with him like it's their last.

They look to the ocean. Wordless, hot from the close proximity to the frenzied sunshine tumbling with the waves.

'Tell me you love me.'

Eren hums, 'You have to say it back.'

She does.

* * *

**...**

* * *

Annie doesn't recall ever feeling this groggy. She's not prone to sickness, and she's weeks past the retching stage that accompanies her condition.

The only conclusion she can deduce is that Eren's skin has a euphoric aftertaste; has her reaching for him, aching for closeness that his embrace alone does not satisfy, not for hours after he melds with her. He supports her with his long arms and one good leg, whispering sweetness that she believes every word of because it's him. And though she never saw the appeal of abstract conceptualisations of life, she finds herself praying for rebirth if only to find him again.

Lulling to sleep, but for once, the present is her respite.

Eren shifts his weight down so he can lay on the mattress, pulling her to rest atop him. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm to her ear, broken only by his smooth voice.

'Don't attend the festival.'

Annie wants to ask him what he's talking about— there are never any festivals in Liberio. Too exhausted to do anything about it, she reminds herself that he may be confusing reality for his dreams; maybe soon, he'll tell her of these delusions that plague him at night.

* * *

**Ahhh feels so good to complete this!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who read and supported this story! Writing it was important to me because of its themes. It means so much that you gave attention and responded to it. I hope that this ending fits the story.**

**At some point, I will definitely revise for syntax and spelling. The events will of course stay the same.**

**If I can't respond to you in a private message, I do so below:**

**Forevershine, thank you so much for all your encouragement throughout this, girl! Your commentaries are so fun to read, especially when I get nervous because you basically predict EVERYTHING! But seriously, thank you for being so generous with your support. I hope you liked the last chapter!**

**paramyth, thank you for all the support and kindness you've given me throughout all of this! You're always so encouraging, and your reviews are so fun to read! Thank you for your time, patience, and support, and I hope the ending was satisfactory. To answer your question, Annie is older, so maybe it'll be hard for people to recognise her. Honestly, I never really thought about what Annie's father or Reiner would do. I think about that stuff more with my other stories. But with this one, I really wanted to keep the focus between Eren and Annie. I don't think her father will say anything, though! I like to think that he just wants her to live her last year as a free person.**

**Guest, thank you for your review! Unfortunately, this story doesn't go that far into the source material's plot.**


End file.
